


Zoom, A Tim Allen Film

by Monk_os



Category: Zoom (2006)
Genre: Gen, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2019-09-17 17:17:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 44
Words: 41,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16978683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monk_os/pseuds/Monk_os
Summary: Tim Allen, a retired super hero and drug addict, is kidnapped and forced to train three children and a paper mache doll to defeat evil with the help of an old co-worker and a living raisin.This project has a very simple idea behind it: I take all the dialogue from the film Zoom and write situations around it. The completed project will be a massive multi-media collection of art, from new DVD covers, to a full album written by musician A Rat Problem. After April 6, 2019, new scenes will be posted 15 times per month for three months.Check out the new Full Length by the big rat, inspired by this book. Also check out the great album art. Shout out to Extrid, Mort, Johnny Ruso, ELLCK, and Karina Kuzmiszyn for helping with the album.Apple MusicSpotifyYoutube





	1. Scene 1: Intro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Owen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owen/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Detective Pony](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2427119) by [sonnetstuck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonnetstuck/pseuds/sonnetstuck). 



> Scene Select:
> 
> Scene 1: Intro
> 
> Scene 2: Delirium
> 
> Scene 3: Ambulance
> 
> Scene 4: Gasss
> 
> Scene 5: Joyryde
> 
> Scene 6: Chopper ride
> 
> Scene 7: Kids
> 
> Scene 8: Arrival
> 
> Scene 9: The Interview pt.1
> 
> Scene 10: The Interview pt.2
> 
> Scene 11: Zenith
> 
> Scene 12: Target Practice
> 
> Scene 13: Gifts
> 
> Scene 14: Oatmeal & Pills
> 
> Scene 15: Dome
> 
> Scene 16: Staff Meeting
> 
> Scene 17: Michael Sue
> 
> Scene 18: The Saucer pt. 1
> 
> Scene 19: The Saucer pt. 2
> 
> Scene 20: Breakroom
> 
> Scene 21: Confrontation
> 
> Scene 22: The Mayor
> 
> Scene 23: Training Day
> 
> Scene 24: A Mere Shadow
> 
> Scene 25: Kendra Rose Montagna
> 
> Scene 26: Enhanced Interrogation
> 
> Scene 27: Deep Shit
> 
> Scene 28: Dylan
> 
> Scene 29: True Power
> 
> Scene 30: Resistance
> 
> Scene 31: Summer’s Night
> 
> Scene 32: “10-Mile Run”
> 
> Scene 33: Names
> 
> Scene 34: Now It’s On You
> 
> Scene 35: Escape 52
> 
> Scene 36: Caught
> 
> Scene 37: Cat and Mouse
> 
> Scene 38: Tim Allen’s Showdown
> 
> Scene 39: Enter Holloway
> 
> Scene 40: Michael Sue Part Two of Two
> 
> Scene 41: Larraby’s Plan
> 
> Scene 42: Plan B
> 
> Scene 43: Final Effort
> 
> Scene 44: Epilogue

For Owen, who likes this god awful film.

Happy birthday you weirdo.

 

Scene 1: Intro

“The Zenith Team,” said a voice on the television. Tim Allen sat back, cigarette hanging from his bottom lip, looking down at the crack pipe on his coffee table.

“Five young superheroes who fought to protect the world from evil,” Tim Allen chuckled at the old tape. He stood, peeling his sweat soaked back off the ripped leather couch. He knelt and picked up the crack pipe.

“Led by Captimallen and his brother Concussion, the team saved many lives. Team Zenith,” Tim Allen stood once again and glanced around the room for any more drug paraphernalia.

“Oh, and with the help of their sidekick, Dr. Grant. The government sought to enhance the team's powers using Gamma-13 radiation,” Tim Allen gave up on the crack pipe and snatched a needle from the broken table beside the couch. He took off his belt, tied it around his arm, and looked down at his veins.

“Timallen got faster and stronger, but the Gamma turned Concussion to the dark side. He turned on his own team. Timallen lost his powers and his brother,” Tim Allen winced as heroine shot into him, and the needle snapped off in his arm.

“Home improvement grunt,” he said.


	2. Scene 2: Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's life is spared by a merciful god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Never last,  
> live fast,  
> die faster.  
> Smoke grass,  
> eat ass,  
> I'm a bastard.”  
> \- Anonymous

“We're coming up now. Prepare to deactivate cloaking device," Tim Allen mumbled in his delirium. Dr. Grant pulled the needle out of his arm with shaking hands. It had been some time since he had dealt with Tim Allen’s drug abuse. His patient’s eyes widened as he realized that his suicide attempt had failed.

“I told you not to call me unless the world was going to end," gurgled Tim Allen. He tried to sit up, but the combined force of blood loss and heroin dropped him back onto his kitchen table.

“I don't know about the world ending, but we've been tracking a pan-dimensional anomaly that seems to be moving toward our time-space continuum," mumbled Dr. Grant, covered in his old co-worker’s blood. His hair was nearly gone now, although he had had a full head of hair when he had last seen Tim Allen. His wireframe glasses slipped down his nose and he roughly pushed them back up with his wrist. He dropped the needle onto the ground and snatched a spoon from the oven. As his wound was cauterized by the makeshift medical instrument, Tim Allen tried to think of a witty comeback.

“Dr. Grant, I speak Greek, not geek," was what he meant to say, but it came out as a gurgled moan. Grant sighed. He had been losing his hair ever since Tim Allen had left, and now he was going to pull the last of it out by the roots.

“Let me put it this way. Concussion is still alive, and he's coming back," screamed Dr. Grant into Tim Allen’s face. He always loved bringing pain to this terrible, terrible man. Tim Allen passed out again.


	3. Scene 3: Ambulance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grant goes hogwild on some sweet boys

The ambulance had arrived ten minutes ago, but the paramedics had only just now piled Tim Allen and Dr. Grant into the back.

“He was destroyed," Dr. Grant said to the paramedic, trying to explain the bloody mess that was Tim Allen’s arm.

“Nope," said the paramedic happily, seeming to be unconscious of Tim Allen's destroyed arm.

“We were there. We both saw it," said Dr. Grant, confused at the paramedic’s refusal to accept Tim Allen’s condition.

“Nope. Twelve days and counting," as the paramedic said these cryptic words, Dr. Grant let loose a primal scream.

“The time has come!” he shrieked, grabbing an oxygen hose from the wall. The paramedic was thrown to the ground by the force of the doctor. Grant wrapped the hose around the paramedic’s neck and tightened it until his eyes bugged out of his head. Grant shook all over, spit flecked with blood spewed out of his mouth and down his chin. After the paramedic stopped moving, Grant stood and began to stomp his head in. At first, there was a loud banging, as the paramedic’s head would bounce up and slam onto the metal floor. However, Grant’s stomps slowly began to muffle as he broke down the bones of the paramedic’s face. Counting was Dr. Grant’s trigger word. After Grant had cleaned off his shoes, he climbed into the cab and stabbed the driver with his handy icepick. Grant loved that icepick.


	4. Scene 4: Gasss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotta get that gassssss

“I'm reactivating the Zenith Program. Find me some kids," said Dr. Grant over the phone. He stood next to his somewhat dilapidated ambulance, leaning his weight on the side of it as three or four gas station attendants scuttled around, fighting over who got to fill up the tank. On the other end of the phone was Larraby, Grant’s boss and lover, who was furiously looking for types of children they could use for their experiments.

“Misfits, outcasts, weirdos," suggested Grant, and Larraby grunted in agreement. One of the attendants shuffled by clutching a small Manila folder.

“Give me that file," screeched Grant, sinking his icepick into the attendant’s shoulder. The attendant squealed like a pig, dropping the folder. Grant snatched the it off the ground, wiped his icepick on the back of the attendant, and returned to his phone call.

“Timallen's the only one who can train them. Now, get to Long Beach, find him, evaluate his condition, and bring him back there," Grant commanded his submissive boss. He closed his eyes and thought about Larraby’s bald head and gross wrinkles filling with hot wax. It had been too long since they had really spent time together.

“You know he won't cooperate. You won the Nobel Prize, Doctor. You think of something," vomited an indignant Larraby. He was unsure about the technical ability of his special strike force in their ability to subdue Tim Allen and put him in those cute fuzzy pink handcuffs that looked so nice on Larraby himself.

“Okay, he's looking. Come now," slurped Grant to the wounded attendant. He had noticed a few of the other attendants eyeing the wound in their companion’s shoulder hungrily. While he may not have had the folds of fat, nor the stern, disapproving brow, the attendant would have to be Larraby’s replacement until the choppers got to the rendezvous point. Grant hoisted the attendant through the window into the front seat of the ambulance and instructed him to drive. Then he tossed the corpses of the paramedic and the driver out to the remaining attendants as payment. Dealing with gas station attendants was always a pain. You just have to hope that you have raw meat on you for the subhuman attendants that work at all gas stations.


	5. Scene 5: Joyride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oops forgot to post yesterday

The attendant, now bestowed with the name Skinbo by his sugar daddy Grant, sped along the streets of Long Beach towards an intersection large enough for Larraby’s dual purpose sex dungeon and attack helicopter, called the  _ Cockter, _ to land. Skinbo’s first time driving was going quite well, and he had already racked up three or four vehicle kills (depending on if you count the pregnant woman as one or two). He was almost fluorescent white, like most gas station attendants, with a large forehead, beady black eyes, and a wide mouth. Skinbo gazed down the road towards a woman crossing the street.

“There's a car coming, Lady!” screamed someone on the sidewalk as he plowed through the woman, marking his fourth or fifth victim that ride. The man on the sidewalk, seething with anger at the reckless driving of the ambulance, decided to disembowel whoever was in the back. He flung open the doors with the rage of 1000 white knights. He glared at the inside of the ambulance, walls dripping with at least three people’s blood, Grant standing straight to attention gazing lustfully into the sky. He raised one yellow finger and pointed into the sky. Almost immediately, the inside of the man's head spewed out across the inside of the ambulance, making four people’s blood on the walls and ground.

“Hey, look out," spurted Grant. The  _ Cockter  _ containing the sniper drew closer. Larraby jumped out before the helicopter even landed, rushing to his lover’s side. He was a large man, he had once been muscular, you could tell, but years behind a desk had added a layer of fat to the chiseled face and army-ready body. He was still strong, mind you, only fat. You wouldn’t think that there are types of bald until you saw him, for he was the most bald of all. He was amazingly bald; not necessarily all over his body, as he still had quite hairy arms and even hairier places that only Grant could properly describe. Rather, it was the kind of baldness that would make the sun reflect off the top of his head at certain times of day and would have blinded you if you looked for too long.

“Yeah, you're sure you're okay, huh?” he said, feigning indifference despite his throbbing heart.

“That guy almost killed me," said Grant, still in shock from not being able to use his Larraby replacement

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having fun '<'


	6. Scene 6: Chopper ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They goin' to the place to do a thing...
> 
> I'm tired

Once Tim Allen had been heaved into the chopper, the crew had finished their ritual landing orgy, and the ambulance had been attached to the bottom to be taken for use by Grant, the  _ Cockter _ took off.

“Watch out for the grease," said Grant as Larraby made Skinbo’s acquaintance by sucking his fingers, which were covered in gasoline and grease and blood.

“Should have told you about those grease spots," Grant reiterated, after Larraby had finished throwing up from ingesting gasoline. Tim Allen’s eyes fluttered.

“Come on, get up," Grant ordered the waking comedian.

“Grant?” Tim Allen mumbled.

“Hello, Timallen," Larraby squelched.

“It's Tim Allen," replied Tim Allen indignantly.

“Okay, Tim Allen," Larraby was disappointed.

“It's good to see you," Grant said, as Tim Allen sat up and turned to face him.

“Wow. You got old," Tim Allen said, trying to hurt the doctor’s feelings.

“It's been, what, 30 years?” Grant replied nonchalantly. Tim Allen despised Grant’s ability to play along with his bullying.

“What are you doing here, Grant?” Tim Allen said, not realizing where they were.

“We're starting up a new team."

“Men's slow-pitch softball?” Tim Allen despised Grant with all his soul.

“No, a new Zenith team," Grant felt the same way.

“You can't be serious," Tim Allen said, shocked. Skinbo almost fell out of the helicopter with how serious everything was.

“We are serious, Mr. Tim Allen," replied a shriveled raisin of a woman, whose head and extremities barely stuck out of an enormous dress. She had been sitting silently in the corner of the chopper, unnoticed until she spoke.

“Why is the green dress talking?” Tim Allen was in quite a bad mood.

“I'm a psychologist," said the raisin, wrinkling her face even more than what Tim Allen could comprehend with his lizard brain.

“I'm sorry. This is Miss Holloway," said Grant, realizing that he had somewhat mislead Tim Allen into believing that Miss Holloway would be a human woman with functioning skin.

“She works with me," Grant had decided to take Holloway as his responsibility. Some pains are too great to bear, and Grant would not wish Miss Holloway onto his worst enemy, despite the fact that he totally did wish Miss Holloway on to Tim Allen, who was his worst enemy, with the exception of maybe children. In his defense, he didn’t know the full power of this raisin woman, and he was trying to save Tim Allen from as much of her influence as possible. While it was her personal goal to vore the entire universe, her odd powers could be exploited. Hopefully Tim Allen would never have to deal with Holloway's vorarephilic tendencies. Nobody deserved that.

“Yes, and despite the theatrics, which were not my idea, by the way, you're the only one who can help us. You're the only superhero left," said the raisin in answer to a question nobody asked. Tim Allen was somewhat disturbed at the fact that his secret ability to put glass in his eyelids without flinching had been revealed to this tiny woman, although he was flattered that she would consider it a super power.

“Somebody's been giving you the wrong information," Tim Allen replied, hoping the woman would not use his hobby against him.

“So, if you'll excuse me, I got work to do," Tim Allen stood and began to walk out of the open helicopter door. Larraby snatched Tim Allen's collar and sat him down in his chair. He gleefully strapped Tim Allen's mangled arm to the raisin woman with the blindfold he always kept in his pocket in case of surprise visits from his mother.

“We're here to take you back, not to invite you back," squirted Dr. Grant menacingly.

“And we're authorized to use whatever means necessary," said Larraby, stroking his prized anal beads.

“Grant, Grant, Grant," Tim Allen replied, showing through a series of winks and gestures that he would be the first to resize Skinbo. Grant, furious, drew his hand gun and aimed it at Tim Allen's forehead.

“You can't shoot him!” shouted Larraby, scared he might get blood that wasn't his or Grant’s on his restraints. He smacked the gun out of Grant's hand and out of the helicopter like he had asked to be smacked at the Royal wedding by prince Charles.

“Nice," said Tim Allen.

“Sorry," said Larraby, but he was treated with a smack anyway for not addressing Grant as “daddy”.


	7. Scene 7: Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to some more characters.

An old, disgusting woman puttered down the street, clutching a bag of candy and some gloves she had stolen from the mall.

“Trick or treat," she creaked to a tree she mistook for a house.

“Here you go, sweetie," she imagined the tree saying as she plucked moss and leaves off the lower branches.

“Trick or treat," she crooned, lifting herself onto a limb and crouching like a harpy, surveying the area for little boys. Her white curly hair fell down from beneath her pink cowboy hat. She curled and uncurled her fingers at the sight of two boys walking down the road holding precious bags of limes.

“Thank you," she tapped out in Morse code on the branch she was on. The boys drew closer and closer, until they were directly underneath her.

“Thanks a lot," she screeched as she swung down and kicked one boy in the chest, sending him flying. She snatched the bag of limes from the ground and began to stride off down the road. The other boy ran up and tried to grab his friend’s limes from the woman.

“Give it here, Howdy Doo-Doo," he said, ripping the limes from the woman's clutches.

“Bully!" cried the woman, uncurling her hands and swiping at the boy’s eyes.

“Oh, my gosh!” screamed the boy as the woman scratched and tore at his face. She plunged her hands deep into the boy’s chest, ripping out chunks of skin and bones to shove into her open, gaping maw.

“Thank you," she gulped between chunks of flesh. The woman tore through the child with an amazing strength, ripping and tearing and chewing down. As she consumed, the neighborhood began to notice the carnage in the street.

“I'II take that," said the woman, clutching the bag of limes close to her chest.

“She's so weird," said a housewife to another.

“Freak," said the other.

“That was a good one," replied the first, realizing that her description of the woman was at least two words too long.

The cafeteria was full of teenagers. Summer, the anime cat girl, scowled. She hated every last one of these kids, but she hated Kendra Rose Montagna most of all. Kendra Rose Montagna was her arch nemesis, an evil being of pure light energy that was also really self-centered and a bit of a dick sometimes. Kendra Rose Montagna was rude to Summer and her friends in the hallways and called her names like Smummer and Weeb Bait. Today, however, Summer would get her sweet revenge. The pipe bomb she had hidden in Kendra Rose Montagna’s lunch pizza would serve that purpose well.

“Oh, my gosh," said one of Kendra Rose Montagna’s friends, pulling the cheesy explosive out of the pizza crust. Summer sensed that the bomb had been discovered and flicked a switch on a remote control. The blast flattened the table and disintegrated at least 5 kids.

“What just happened?” yelled a teacher, running in after hearing the blast and the screaming.

“How does my hair look?” Kendra Rose Montagna said, her ethereal form undamaged by the physical blast.

After the staff realized that none of the kids killed in the blast were particularly popular compared to the unharmed Kendra Rose Montagna, the day resumed its normal routine. Dylan, a spider enthusiast and life-sized living doll made of wet paper mache, dozed off in class for the fifth time that hour.

“Dylan. Perhaps you'd like to come up and finish Newton's equation?" said the teacher menacingly. Dylan snapped to attention and spewed a stream of water onto a nearby student.

“I think Newton can finish his own equation," snarked Dylan, folding and unfolding a complex origami dog.

“Now, Dylan," the teacher commanded.

“Yes," Dylan replied, tossing the dog onto his desk and walking up to the board. He took two spiders out of his pocket and smashed them onto the board with the power of an angry leopard being crushed by a trash compactor.

Lard-Butt cracked two more ducks in the head with his big wooden board.

“Check it out. Lard-butt's going to snap the board in half," said Wint, Lard-Butt’s friend and insurance broker. Lard-Butt gripped the sides of the board and ripped it through the air at the final standing duck. The duck's head was obliterated almost instantly, but the force of the wind resistance snapped the board anyway. Lard-Butt dropped the board to the ground and picked up the ducks and began to swallow them whole. There would be no duck parade today.


	8. Scene 8: Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew arrives at Area 52, the second most depraved cesspool in Nevada

“Wake up, Timallen," Dr Grant cooed in Tim Allen’s ear. He gently caressed Tim Allen’s long hair before standing up. The  _ Cockter  _ had landed at a secure facility in Nevada, and soldiers were rushing around making sure no surveillance had caught the chopper’s landing. A large man in a green uniform stood and saluted Tim Allen as he stepped shakily out of the helicopter.

“Timallen? Welcome back to Area 52," the man said, standing at attention. This is Michael Anthony, the Mary Sue self insert character, but we will deal with him later. Tim Allen ignored him, sneering at Grant.

“Thank you, Grant, for bringing me back to a place I've been avoiding for the last 30 years," he snarled, doing a little dance to show his displeasure.

“You have two choices as I understand it,” Grant mused, “One is to stay here, and the other is to go directly to prison."

“How long in prison?” Tim Allen asked. If it was less than his stint in jail for drug trafficking and possession of cocaine, he would gladly be carted away.

“We are also very happy to pay you $500,000," Larraby said, running up beside the pair. He pulled out a little dart gun and shot Tim Allen in the arm to reiterate his point.

“You know you could've just said that instead of shooting me with a dart," Tim Allen slurred passively.

“Yes, Mr. Tim Allen," Larraby said sorrowfully, retreating, depressed, back to the orgy helicopter. A flurry of yellow fabric erupted from a shed to Tim Allen’s left. The raisin woman rolled to the feet of the drug addict, actor, and comedian.

“Mr. Tim Allen, I can't tell you how happy I am that you've come aboard," Miss Holloway gurgled, her yellow dress floating around her like clouds of mustard gas.

“It's you," Tim Allen said, confused. Holloway had been sucked into the middle of the orgy pile when they landed, and he hadn’t seen her get out of the heap of human flesh, let alone go into the decrepit shed beside him.

“Do you have an inner-ear problem or something?” Holloway squeaked, removing her otoscope from a passing fold of yellow dress and advancing on Tim Allen’s head. Tim Allen backed away from the tiny woman with the medical equipment.

“Timallen," chided Grant. He thought he had taught Tim Allen to understand the benefits of occasional check-ups, but he had, evidently, not drilled it into Tim Allen's head enough.

“Tim Allen," corrected Tim Allen.

“Right, Tim Allen. Miss Holloway is our leading researcher in the area of latent superhuman abilities,” Grant explained, “She'll be in charge of training the new Zenith team. She's also quite a fan of yours,"

“I have every issue of  _ Captimallen And His Amazing Team _ , most of them still in their original plastic sleeves," crackled the tiny raisin woman, pulling at her hair as she spoke.

“That's creepy," Tim Allen joked, but Holloway took it as a compliment, “But do you still have that green dress?” Tim Allen’s WWI PTSD, or shellshock as they called it back then, was being activated by the floaty yellow clouds of incredibly light fabric.

“I even have the fifth anniversary double issue, Timallen Vs. The Atomic Melt. I have it in Japanese, German, Farsi, Hindi and Braille," crunched the woman, ignoring Tim Allen’s request.

“How about that green dress? Still have that?” Tim Allen asked again, but his request was unheard by the fangirling Holloway.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced Larraby over the base’s intercom system, “may I have your attention, please? The return of Timallen!”


	9. Scene 9: The Interview pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Child Review Time!

Tim Allen, in an almost catatonic state from his shellshock, was ushered into a control room and squirted with water until he awoke from his delusions. He looked around, dazed. Through a pane of one-way glass there were 9 children and an old woman tied to chairs with soldiers behind them. Grant ushered the woozy tool man to a microphone.

“Show of hands, who here does not live with their mom in her basement?” Tim Allen said into the microphone. None of the kids raised their hands.

“We have assembled a group of 10 special candidates. The extent of their abilities is still unknown, like it was when your team arrived," explained Grant, seeing that Tim Allen had no clue what he was doing.

“We wanted your help in choosing the ones with the best potential for a new Zenith team," Larraby added, catching through a series of eye movements from Grant that Holloway was to change into her green dress at the request of Mr. Tim Allen.

“Well, for half a million dollars in cash and prizes let's take a look at those contestants, shall we?” Tim Allen declared, coming to his senses with a burst of sarcastic energy, the energy that had once driven his powers and now lay dormant. Grant looked unamused.

“What, are we forming a spelling bee?” Tim Allen snarked back at the scientist and socialist.

“I assure you, they are all quite gifted," Grant replied, not letting Tim Allen’s irreverence and right-wing beliefs get to him.

“Gifted what? They're a bunch of kids. And what power do they have? I haven't read or heard about a Gamma event," Tim Allen spat at Grant, leaning subtly on the on button so that the kids could hear him make fun of them to their faces.

“Well, there weren't any. My studies in meta-human psychophysiology have made Gamma treatments obsolete," Grant replied coolly, slipping a roofie into Larraby’s drink.

“I am quite confident that we can develop their abilities far beyond what was achieved during the Gamma-13 days,” Grant expounded, as Tim Allen slunk further into his chair, “and we can do it safely and naturally," Grant grinned. He could see Tim Allen beginning to lose his cool.

“I'm sorry, I must've dozed off there for a minute," Tim Allen replied, trying to brush off the implications of what Grant said. What he had heard was “yada yada yada, these kids are better than you. Lol your brother is evil”.

“Times have changed, Timallen," Grant said, glad he had made some form of impact on the arrogant comedian.

“Well, they'd better be able to do some mind-blowing stuff," Tim Allen retorted, angered at the fact that he let his emotions get the better of him. One of the kids had begun to tear up but was trying to hide it. A soldier pushed her chair forward out of the line.

“What is this? She's blinking fast," Tim Allen said, his sociopathy not allowing him to recognize emotion.

“She was better in the audition," Grant said as Tim Allen gave the order to execute the girl. The soldier dragged the girl out of the line and tipped her against the wall. He brought his rifle to her head and blew her brains out onto the wall behind the line.

“I am a little cooler," said the next boy in line. His skin was soggy and pale, with smeared black ink dripping down onto the floor. Out of his mouth crawled a spider.

“Oh, dude!” Tim Allen yelped in disgust. More spiders began to flow out of the boy’s mouth, crawling over the boy until he was completely covered in a writhing black mat.

“Now you see him, now you don't," Grant said, elbowing Tim Allen, who was throwing up in a bucket.

“How you doing?” Grant asked the vomit covered Trump supporter.

“Pass the hand sanitizer, please," Tim Allen gasped between heaves. Grant tossed the bottle to a guard, who left the room. The paper mache boy was removed, sedated, and put onto a table for analysis after the interview concluded.


	10. Scene 10: The Interview pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More child murder! Yay!
> 
> I lothe my existence.

After Tim Allen had recovered somewhat from his experience, he called the next kid forward.

“A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P…” said the kid.

“Stop that. You're singing the alphabet. That's not a power," Tim Allen said, turning and glaring at Grant. The interviews had been a total disaster so far.

“And your voice is average, it's not super," Tim Allen continued as the young boy was tipped against the wall next to the corpse.

“It is, too, super," the kid screamed as the rifle barrel was placed on the back of his head.

“Get another table in here, please," Grant commanded. He had a good feeling about this next girl.

“Right away," said the soldier after cleaning blood and bone off his rifle. Tim Allen began to question the next girl that had been moved forward. She was a cute anime girl with the big tata and cute neko ears ^UwU^. I hate myself so much.

“I see things," said the girl to Tim Allen.

“Do you see dead people?”

“I see that you suffer from a massive inferiority complex."

“I try to hide that so well," Tim Allen said, and reluctantly gave the ok on the telepath. Grant was disappointed that Tim Allen hadn’t been more enthusiastic. The girl was sedated and put next to the boy and the next kid was pushed forward with great difficulty. He was thicc, and sported a bowl cut and a pair of spiderman themed sunglasses way too small for his head. Lard-Butt had already come up with his superhero name.

“I'm Jupiter the Gas Giant," he said, grinning.

“Say, ‘Excuse me,’” Tim Allen snarked back.

“Yikes," Grant said at the low quality of Tim Allen’s burn. Lard-Butt beckoned the soldier to him. With a few strange movements, he bit and chewed at the ropes binding him to the chair. With an odd grace, he pounced on the guard, unhinging his jaw and gulping the man's head, helmet and all, into his gaping throat.

“Is he doing it, or is he just naturally that chubby?” Tim Allen said sarcastically, but he was impressed at the speed of the boy. He had already finished the soldier, as well as the bodies and chairs at the back, and had begun to eat the other contestants.

“It's so cool," Tim Allen said to Grant, watching the consumption of the children. His job was being done for him, any survivors would be inducted into the training program. He left the room with Grant in tow.


	11. Scene 11: Zenith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Allen meets his new team.

After the carnage had died down and soldiers gassed the remaining four subjects, Larraby approached Holloway with Skinbo trailing behind.

“Miss Holloway, how would you like to introduce our trainees to their new instructor?” Larraby asked the tiny round woman, already knowing her response.

“I would love to. You ready?” Holloway asked the general.

“Yeah. I can't wait," Larraby said and grinned. He hadn’t had a good playmate since Grant began his oppressive work schedule.

“Okay," Holloway said as Skinbo accidentally swallowed a pool ball and began dry heave. Larraby showed Holloway a register of kids, 6 of which were now crossed out roughly in red crayon. The four that were left were as follows:

Summer “Smummer” Jones: telepath/empath/cute anime neko girl

Dylan “Spiders” West: spiders

Tucker “Lard-Butt” Williams: eats things

Cindy “Old” Collins: old looking 6-year-old/hella stronk/gilf material

Holloway nodded.

“That is getting so old," Summer said, pointing to a moldy apple in the corner of the room that even Lard-Butt refused to eat. There were only four of them left: Summer, who managed to convince Lard-Butt not to eat her because she was anorexic and too bony to be tasty, Dylan, who produced a steady stream of spiders to satisfy the glutton’s hunger, and an old woman who had torn a section off the wall, and who Lard-Butt wouldn’t even go near. Tim Allen creaked open the door and threw Skinbo in to act as a human shield. After a couple seconds of not hearing screaming from inside the room, he opened the door. When the three children and the old woman saw Tim Allen, they burst into laughter at the sight of his tinfoil hat.

“Well, considering you can read my mind, I don't have many options," Tim Allen said sheepishly, ashamed of the fact that what he was really worried about was Obama’s spy satellites reading his mind and learning where he hid those bodies 20 years ago.

“I can't read your mind," Summer said, grinning at the tinfoil spike, “I just feel stuff. And you could stop hitting on me entirely."

“No, I can't do that. You and I are destiny," Tim Allen said, trying to distract from his hat with a pedophilia joke, although she wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Children, I would like to formally introduce you to a very great man, Mr. Tim Allen Tim Allen," Holloway announced as she entered the room, Larraby and Grant scurrying around behind her. A spider crawled out of Dylan’s face with some difficulty, and Tim Allen stifled a dry heave. A piece of corn fell out of his nose.

“Sorry. I don't remember eating that," he muttered, kicking the kernel away into a pile of organs.

“Great man or washed-up loser?” Lard-Butt questioned Holloway.

“It's a fine line. What a nice kid," Tim Allen spurted back at both the kid and Larraby for choosing such trash children.

“Is the long hair and the James Dean angst just a package with you?” Summer sneered, since it was her turn to take a swipe at Tim Allen verbally. She despised this man more than she despised herself, and that was saying a lot. Tim Allen was hurt by that one, and clutched at his long treasured locks. 

“Mr. Tim Allen is uniquely qualified to be your new instructor. And now he'll tell you why," Holloway said, trying to defend the drug addict of her dreams.

“What?” Tim Allen cried as he realized that he would have to do actual work. He made a dash for the door, but Grant clocked him in the head with his ice pick and dragged him back into the room.

“Oh, yeah, kids, do you have any idea what you're doing here or why?” Holloway said excitedly, emphasizing words like she was speaking to preschoolers.

“Me. Come on. Come on. Me, me, me. Me," said a voice behind a torn sheet of metal. The tip of a pink hat poked out from behind the rubble. A thin hand raised from behind it as well.

“AII right, the little one," Holloway said, pointing to the tiny gnarled hand curling and uncurling behind the metal.

“We were brought here in super-secret because we were selected out of a huge group of kids because we're really special and they needed special kids for a special course," creaked the voice from behind the metal. The children slowly crept away from the crazy woman.

“That's what Miss Holloway said? I don't think I've ever heard anybody use that many ‘specials’ in a sentence," Tim Allen admitted.

“She actually worked it in there one more time than Collins did," Dylan corrected, referring to the indoctrination video that they watched en-route to the facilities.

“But it's all a lie. We're here because we're different," interjected Summer.

“We're not different," screeched Collins, crawling out from behind the sheet and running her fingernails down the now cracked one-way mirror. She began to scream and salivate and curl her fingers in odd, disjointed shapes.

“Come on. Chill out," said Holloway.

“You can pick up a car, and you're six. How different does it get?” Tim Allen yelled at the wrinkled 6-year-old.

“Don't tell her that," Summer scolded.

“Don't be a jerk, man," Lard-Butt said.

“What? Tucker, I'm not being a jerk!” screamed Tim Allen, flying into a fit of rage.

“Children," Holloway said, wagging a finger at the kids for angering her only love.

“Sorry," Lard-Butt said sarcastically, sitting in a corner.

“Okay, maybe this'll help," Tim Allen squawked. Not even a sarcastic apology could calm the fury of 1000 home improvement grunts that Tim Allen would bring down on these irreverent children’s heads.

“I spent a lot of time here at Camp Secret when I was just about your age. And you know what? It pretty much ruined my life," he screeched, spinning in a circle, spittle and bile flying in every direction.

“Mr. Tim Allen," Larraby said, beginning to pull the raving Tim Allen away from the kids before he convinced them not to submit themselves to “science”.

“Hey, the military would like you to be just like me. You have to work hard and focus. But most of all, most important, you're going to need massive doses of Gamma-13 emissions. So let's wheel in that big machine and zap the little guys, huh?” Tim Allen ripped at the general’s face, trying to claw his way back into the room.

“That's not true. Mr. Tim Allen. Hallway," Grant said, grabbing and pulling Tim Allen’s head out towards the door.

“Right. Let's go to the hallway," Holloway said, eager to go to her namesake room.

“You guys want to slip into that lead underwear, you wanna protect your privates," screamed Tim Allen before the interrogation room door slammed shut. The children looked at each other, bewildered.

“Always the smart aleck," Grant mumbled as he stuck Tim Allen with a horse tranquilizer.


	12. Scene 12: Target Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Allen's brother is definitely alive. Probably.

“But he is definitely the target, sir. The center of the dimensional probing is following Timallen here, from Long Beach," Grant said to Larraby, who stood, watching Skinbo do a little dance through the one-way glass.

“We've finally found something that Tim Allen excels at. Being the bait. If you can't get those kids combat-ready in time, I'II have to dose them with enough Gamma-13 to sterilize a trailer park. And if that should happen, you can rest assured, sir, that I will do everything in my power to make sure it's not my fault," Larraby replied coldly. Grant had never seen him so tense. He massaged the general’s neck and back sensually, but the general remained firm.

“I told you. We will not be dosing the children," Grant said, draping himself over Larraby’s shoulders.

“Based on what we have in there, I think you might want to dose them just a little," Larraby told Grant, softening a little to his lover’s advances.

“Come on. Drop them by a nuclear facility and leave them there," he said, winking.

“Or drop them off at the dentist and have them x-rayed 200 or 300 times," said Tim Allen, walking in on the lovers’ squabble to get attention.

“I don't think you understand their sensitive condition," Grant said, ignoring Tim Allen’s interruption. He pretended to slip and fall, making Larraby catch him.

“What about my sensitive condition?” Tim Allen said, trying to get a rise out of anyone.

“I'm being asked to betray children for money," Grant cooed to his lover.

“Are you done? I left a little pause there in case you wanted to slip and fall again," Tim Allen said, mad that the gay couple was not giving him attention.

“Oh, Grant, what am I doing here?” Larraby said, finally caving in to his lover’s requests. Grant kissed Larraby tenderly and turned to Tim Allen.

“Come on. Let me show you something."


	13. Scene 13: Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Allen ain't so bad when you get to know him.

“Wow," Tim Allen said as Grant opened a huge metal door. Before him stood a large yellow suit, it’s matte finish and rough surface covered in a thin layer of dust. Metal scales covered the suit, and they would have allowed Tim Allen to move at his top speed, if he had worn it before he lost his powers. Grant smiled sadly.

“I made that suit for you. Too bad you never got a chance to wear it," he said. Tim Allen looked at him softly. For just a second, Grant and Tim Allen felt at home.

“Welcome back, Timallen," Grant said, playfully punching Tim Allen’s shoulder.

“It's Tim Allen," Tim Allen reiterated.

“It's Timallen," Grant said, smiling softly, leaving Tim Allen alone with the suit.

“Wow," Tim Allen said again after Grant had left. He smiled genuinely for the first time in two weeks.

“Where'd you put... Is this…” Holloway pulled anal beads out of Larraby’s drawer. She could not seem to find his keys to the interrogation room. Closing her eyes once again, she reached down into the damp drawer and fished around for anything key-shaped. Her hand brushed against something pointy and prayed that it was only the keys. She drew out a wad of keys on a damp lanyard. She stuffed the wad in her pocket and ran out of the general’s room.

“Cool. Timallen comics," Lard-Butt said as the raisin woman scuttled into the room. In her stubby arms were five comic books with  _ Timallen _ and  _ Zenith Team _ written in big yellow letters on the front. Lard-Butt made a swipe at the comics with a huge hand.

“Tucker, wait. Do not touch this. This is a first edition,” the raisin screeched, “Don't even touch the sleeve. Now, everyone, please put on your pH-balancing, antibacterial gloves."

Lard-Butt’s hand daintily plucked a comic out of the woman’s arms.

“Or not."

“Why are you giving us these?” Dylan sloshed.

“Well, I'm not giving them to you, but I'm showing them to you because yesterday you asked me why Mr. Tim Allen was a great man. Well, this is why he's a great man," Holloway replied, gazing at the fat fingers of Lard-Butt smearing grease over the plastic sleeve.

“Because he collects comic books?" said Summer, at the back of the room.

“No. Because he is the comic book. Mr. Tim Allen is Captimallen,” Holloway said, and the kids narrowed their eyes, “And these comics are a record of the incredible things that Timallen and his amazing team did to protect mankind."

“He was the leader of the Zenith team faster than Quicksilver, the Flash and Superman all together," Holloway reiterated for the twentieth time that day.

“No way," Dylan said, disappointed that his favorite superhero was a sexist Trump supporter coke addict.

“Way," Tim Allen said, walking in in a state of actual happiness.

“Timallen," Holloway addressed Tim Allen, and for once he didn’t correct her.

“You're Captimallen," Summer said sadly.

“Can you eat fast, too?” Lard-Butt said, worried for his usefulness on the team. His eating ability could easily fall to either Collins or Tim Allen now, and his safety was being threatened. He had to come up with a plan.

“Timallen. Do something fast," Collins squeaked, clapping her wrinkled hands gleefully.

“Well, I guess the cat's out of the bag, huh?” Tim Allen said, shrugging and sitting down on an overturned chair.

“You don't look like a superhero," Dylan said, still holding on to the hope that this was just a joke.

“I don't? Are you sure?” Tim Allen said, a growl creeping into his voice, his rage coming back from where Grant’s kindness had shoved it.

“You know why?” Tim Allen said, trying to keep his cool, “Because I'm not a superhero. There's no such thing as superheroes. No matter what people told you around here, you're not superheroes."

“We're superheroes?” Dylan said, deliberately prodding the emotionally unstable comedian.

“Awesome," Summer said, catching on to Dylan’s cruelty.

“Yes," Lard-Butt said, agreeing with the others because they seemed pretty smart and knew what was going on generally.

“You're definitely white kids, I'II tell you that," Tim Allen shot back at the children, his rage boiling to the surface. It felt good. What was that pansy nonsense he had been spouting? It was Grant’s fault, whatever it was.

“Yeah,” Lard-Butt agreed again. Then, realizing what he had agreed to did not make sense, he said “What?”

“Do we get names? And costumes?” moaned Collins. Tim Allen composed himself, but before he could speak, Larraby's voice burst in from the loudspeaker in the interrogation room. The door clicked shut and locked.

“I'm sorry, what's your name again?” Larraby said.

“Cindy Collins, age six," was the reply from the frail looking old woman.

“Cindy Collins, age six. This isn't a parade. Or a Girl Scout jamboree or some sleepover," he said to the old woman in the pink cowgirl costume.

“It's a military installation. You get military stuff. Functional ware," Larraby boomed. Only Collins was listening, however, as Tim Allen had begun to try to convince the kids that libertarianism was the best form of government.

“You see this? I used to be able to move my entire body that fast," he said, vibrating his fingers in that special way that he knew would make Grant jealous.

“So they put me in a poly-carbonate silicone suit. That way I didn't vibrate out of my clothes," he continued, showing how heavy government suppresses the people using a metaphor for his own power being suppressed by the very same government.

“You've got to stop doing that," Larraby said over the loudspeaker, angry that he had let this anarchist into his compound.

“Can my superhero costume be a tutu?” yammered Collins, intent on getting a frilly pink tutu to replace her bloodied costume.

“Are you even trying to listen to me?” Larraby yammered back, imitating the woman's creaky voice. Holloway and Tim Allen had to be removed quickly as Collins flew into a rage and had begun to tear away the glass of the one-way mirror.


	14. Scene 14: Oatmeal & Pills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Allen was arrested for drug trafficking in 1979. That isn't really too relevant to this chapter, but I thought I'd let you guys know anyway.

Tim Allen and the three kids were placed in a small metal room for security purposes.

“So what are they going to make us do?” Summer asked Tim Allen, who was eating pills and oatmeal, his favorite lunchtime snack.

“I don't know, dude," he said, the pills making him a little drowsy.

“Let me think about that for just a minute," his head drooped and fell into the oatmeal. Summer looked at him in disgust.

“And you're supposed to be training us," she spat.

“Give me a break," gurgled the drowsy actor.

“You can barely tie your shoes," Summer rebuked the drowning drug addict.

“Come on, let's let Mr. Timallen finish his oatmeal," Dylan said, taking pity on the decrepit form of Tim Allen. He carefully lifted Tim Allen’s head out of the bowl and laying it on the table. Lard-Butt scooped some of the slime out of the bowl, shoved it into his mouth, thought for a second, then said “It's Cream of Wheat, dude,” before collapsing after consuming Tim Allen’s pills.


	15. Scene 15: Dome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids get tested in a big ol' dome, which was made for testing kids in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scene 15.5: Note 1
> 
> Owen. If you love this movie, you'll notice that I cut out a section of the dialogue. There was a good reason for this. Coming up to this section, I had certain doubts about the project. I feared that, as I was writing, I would begin to write simply a weirdo version of the movie. It would be Zoom but with gay Larraby (and, it turns out that Zoom was already Zoom with gay Larraby). I wanted to keep it like the first scene, with action, suspense, and ambulance hijacking.
> 
> But I couldn't.
> 
> I failed only a little, it is only the first section of the movie, but I had a sinking feeling in my heart. I continued. I braved through it until this section. This section is the absolute worst. It is unfunny, boring, and, more importantly, long. It is devoid of any redeeming qualities. And it presented me with an emotion that I was not ready to deal with. Dread. I saw the section coming up and it scared me. I stopped writing for a while because it affected me so much. I was shook to my core. If you do not know the section, it is a back and forth between Tim Allen and Holloway. I can't deal with long, boring dialogue, which is why I thought this would be a good movie in the first place. I thought that this would be a movie filled with crazy visuals for kids to zone out to and me to mess with. But it isn't. It is Tim Allen making fun of kids for the entire thing. I know you love this movie, but the more I have to deal with Tim Allen's dialogue, the more I wish that he couldn't have paid bail for his drug trafficking charges. Back to the movie.

Larraby and Grant looked down at the old woman in the test dome. The dome was shaped somewhat like half a grapefruit, with different walled off sections and a control center in the middle.

“It's remarkable. 2.5 tons per arm," Grant said, taking notes on the exercise routine of Collins. She held about five cow’s worth of meat above her head, practicing for when she would inevitably be forced to destroy Lard-Butt in the most ironic way possible.

“Wow, you shaved," Larraby said to his partner.

“Wow, you noticed," his partner replied. The two were quite proud of the child they had selected.

“Would you believe that little girl is holding 5 tons above her head? Look at that," Grant said, marveling at the child. The other children were being brought into the other segments of the dome.

“Wait,” Larraby said, pressing the on button of the loudspeaker, “Cindy, what are you wearing?”

Cindy had a frilly pink tutu on over her standard yellow suit, a gift from Holloway.

“It's my alter eggo," she croaked proudly.

“You mean your ‘alter ego’?” Larraby laughed scornfully at the child and/or old woman.

“I'm a princess," was her innocent reply.

“Cindy, you're not a princess," Grant said, trying to get her angry.

“But I look pretty," she said, confused.

“Yeah, but pretty girls don't have any real friends and they never get any respect," Grant said as an oatmeal covered Tim Allen walked into the control room. He leaned over and whispered into the mic.

“Take Miss Holloway, for instance," he said, knowing it would get a rise out of the strange girl.

“Hey," she screeched and hurtled the huge mass of meat at the observation window.

“Scatter," said Grant, making a pun about how the intestines of the cows (scat) scattered itself across the window. He thought his jokes were on point today.

“Nice toss, Cindy. Really good," Larraby said, gassing the chamber to subdue the strange creature.

“Why don't you get a juice box and a Rice Krispy treat?” Grant taunted the semiconscious abomination.

“It's unbelievable," said Larraby staring down into an empty room.

“It's as if he's not even there," he said, thinking that Dylan was somehow hiding in the room.

“Because he's not there. He's escaped again," Tim Allen replied. He had seen guards fighting hordes of spiders controlled by a paper mache boy in the hallway on his way to the observation room.

“Security, Code Dylan. I repeat, Code Dylan. Thank you," said a voice on the intercom. Grant, Larraby and Tim Allen shifted over to the next section, where Lard-Butt was refusing to exit a pit with the body of a bull in it.

“I don't know why he does that," Grant said, confused at the boy’s refusal to leave a meal three times larger than him.

“Because he doesn't like it here, Grant," Tim Allen said, his cynicism returning against the scientist.

“Don't know why not. It's good food," Larraby said to Grant, a little jealous that he didn’t get a bull to fight. Grant glared at him for agreeing with Tim Allen.

“Dr. Grant,” a guard complained, “Tucker won't come out of the bullpen,"

“It's okay, Tucker. I know you don't have any control over this thing yet, but can you please try to expand?” Grant said, trying to convince the boy to eat the corpse of the bull so that soldiers could capture him when he went into a food coma.

“I am trying, alright?" said the boy, ripping off a leg and beginning to eat.

“You're wasting your time," Tim Allen called down to the boy in the pit.

“Tim Allen, you are undermining his confidence," Grant grumbled.

“What confidence? He's a lazy little chubba bubba," Tim Allen slurped into the mic. Lard-Butt, enraged, clambered up the side of the pit and out into the main cell. He snatched a guard and began to rip him apart. Holloway walked in just as a chunk of flesh splattered onto the window.

“Hey, Marsha. Exactly what part of him is this?” Tim Allen hissed blithely.

“Help," said the guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end of Act 1. Yes, I am structuring the book like a movie. No, it's not supposed to be pretentious. The next Act (the next 15 chapters) will be released starting May 1st. As of now, I don't think Owen is caught up, so hopefully this should give him enough time to read up to what has been released. Happy Easter, by the way.


	16. Scene 16: Staff Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The science team needs to be replaced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYYYYYY I'm back. The ALLEN album will be out tomorrow, and I'll be posting the link to it everywhere because I am a shill.

It three in the was morning. Grant had called an emergency meeting of the science team.

“The brain scans do not correlate with the children's test results," Grant said. He had his head in his hands. Holloway, Skinbo, and several other members of the science team stood around their distressed leader. Larraby stood in the corner, eyebrows knit, hand on his forehead.

“They are subconsciously suppressing their full abilities," Holloway explained.

“We face an imminent threat. These kids have got to be ready now," Larraby said from the corner of the room.

“Sir, it might help if I knew what the imminent threat was," Holloway said back, turning to the general. Grant and Larraby were the only people who knew about the threat in full detail. Tim Allen burst through the door holding the prunes that he was supposed to bring for Larraby's juice cleanse an hour before the meeting

“Sorry I'm late. I didn't get the memo. You know? But I heard the word ‘imminent threat.’ What exactly…”

“Hold it, Tim Allen. We're holding a meeting for people who matter, and Miss Holloway," said one of the science staff. He and Skinbo hi-fived. Both the general and Grant grimaced.

“Well, I think maybe a big bowl of prunes might turn that frown upside down, General," Tim Allen said, holding the prunes high above his head.

“Guards, take him where the losers are plotting another failure. He knows the way," said the scientist, reveling in the snarky energy he had just discovered.

“Go to see your family, huh?” Tim Allen snarked back, making fun of the fact that members of the science team were confined to the military base for weeks at a time. This particular staff member had been on the job when his child was born 4 days ago, and his face sank when Tim Allen's insult hit.

“Get him out of here now," he yelled as the guards finally appeared to take Tim Allen away.

“Five days and counting," Tim Allen called back. Grant stood, drawing his icepick. With one swift motion, he ripped out the throat of the sci-staff member.

“Scatter," Larraby said, dodging a swing of the icepick. Tim Allen, taking advantage of the guard’s shock, ducked behind a table as Grant ripped open another scientist's ribcage. Holloway rolled up beside him.

“Holloway. You mind telling me what was going on between you and Larraby?” Tim Allen questioned the woman. Her face wrinkled and sagged.

“Tim Allen, it's late," she said, trying to slink off to her quarters to avoid the rampaging scientist.

“I can't help those kids unless I know what's going on," Tim Allen said, trying to appeal to the human nature he assumed was hidden somewhere within the grey folds of the woman’s skin.

“You know, when they started talking about bringing you in…” Holloway said, disappoint dripping from her voice. In her hand was a tiny Timallen figurine. Tim Allen sat, confused, listening the woman.

“Yeah?”

“...I was ecstatic. Finally, I would meet the only real superhero left in the world," she licked her lips, but her face seemed sad. She began to rip the toy apart in her shaking hands. She retrieved a few more figures of the other members of the old Zenith team, ripping at them slowly, until only the Concussion figure was unharmed.

“Would you let that superhero stuff go, please?” Tim Allen said, concerned that the woman would have some sort of episode.

“A hero who would fight for justice at all costs," she continued ripping, “I was a really lonely, kind of weird child."

“Well, at least you know you've grown out of that," Tim Allen chuckled nervously. Grant had begun to tire himself out after disemboweling five scientists.

“And the only comfort I found was in reading about you," Holloway said, seeming to channel her inner Collins, creaking out her sentence with a menacing hiss. She held all the remains of the toys in one hand and plucked the plastic Timallen head off the figure. Her thumb and forefinger crushed the head with ease in front of the comedian’s face.

“That's because you're out of your mind," Tim Allen said, stumbling back, “You gotta stop with this comic book stuff."

“You know, the first thing you said to me was that you're not a real superhero."

“Right."

“Well, I didn't believe you then. But congratulations, because you have convinced me,” she groaned, looking at the scared husk of a man, “You are nothing but a bitter man happily getting paid to take your resentments out on these children. It's horrible."

“All right, then. We'll do this again," Tim Allen said, vaulting over the table that he had been taking cover under. He scrambled out of the room, disregarding Grant, or the bodies, or even his own name written in a scrawl across the hallway wall. Holloway looked after the fleeing man. Maybe he would be useful, but it was disappointing that he had no superpowers of his own.


	17. Scene 17: Michael Sue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best character is here. All bow before him.

 

“Hey, that was a good meeting last night, Grant," said Michael Anthony, the head of Isolative Security. He had hoped for a promotion after this, but it seemed more likely that Larraby would consider him too useful an asset to send away. Maybe he could get a raise if he did well enough. It wouldn’t be worth it, but it wasn’t like he could quit.

“Yeah, it was cool. It was just a simple staff meeting," said a voice from somewhere else inside the room. Anthony whipped around, shining his flashlight over four mangled bodies from the science team. Someone must have said “counting”. His flashlight came to rest on a huddled figure in the corner. He breathed a sigh of relief. As long as he could see Grant, he could keep his gun on him, and shoot if necessary.

“That's what I thought, simple staff meeting, based on the way I was shuffled out of there," he said, pointing back to the hallway behind him. The rest of the security team had almost had to drag him to the lab. They all sat, cowering in the back of the hall. Grant couldn’t see him, but he knew that the rest of the team would, so his comments were more for them. He reached out and touched the figure. It slumped and swung from its head, which was attached to the wall. Anthony stepped back and spun around. There were only three bodies on the floor, and a trail of blood leading down a hallway. Anthony sighed. This would be a long morning.


	18. Scene 18: The Saucer pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Allen tries to teach a super hero lesson

“So, where we going?" asked Skinbo.

“We've got combat training tomorrow. We've got to get you into some protective gear," Tim Allen said, annoyed at the fact that it had been left to him to arm the gas station attendant. Evidently, Grant and the head Isolative officer were locked in a firefight in the science section, Larraby was busy with an insurrection plot, and Holloway got the kids.

“I don't want to hold your hand, thanks," Tim Allen said, knocking Skinbo’s hand away.

“I don't want to hold your hand," he said again, as Skinbo made another pass. He snatched Tim Allen’s finger and held on for dear life.

“Let go of my hand," Tim Allen said, lifting the small grease monkey and flinging him into the wall of the hallway.

“That's quite painful," said Skinbo, standing shakily after the impact. Somewhere deep in Tim Allen's cold soul flickered with humanity.

“AII right. I'II hold your hand. Careful," Tim Allen said, taking the wrinkled hand of the supposedly subhuman gas attendant. Tim Allen dropped Skinbo at the armory and popped his head into where Holloway was getting the kids ready.

“What'd I tell you about costumes?” Tim Allen slurped at Collins, who had insisted on wearing a pink tutu, not too dissimilar to what Holloway wore.

“It's not a costume. It's my perfective gear," Collins croaked in that special way of hers.

“Yeah? How's a ballerina costume going to protect you?” Tim Allen said. Summer and Dylan shook their heads violently and mouthed warnings at the irate junkie.

“Are you crazy? Who wants to hurt a ballerina?” Dylan said, glaring at Tim Allen as Summer made hand motions for him to stop. Tim Allen hadn't been in the room for the fiasco revolving around Collins suit.

“Other ballerinas, Baryshnikov," Tim Allen snarked. He couldn't help himself. He looked around the old training room and stifled a smile. He had fisted his girlfriend in this room back in the Zenith Team days. His eyes came to rest on an old training dummy with a speaker tapped to it and a face crudely drawn on in off brand sharpie.

“Wait a minute. No way. Is that you, Mr. Pibb?” Tim Allen's couldn't believe that Grant hadn't cleaned that old pile of junk up years ago.

“You recognize me?” Dylan mouthed, not realizing that Tim Allen was done snarking and antagonizing a 6-year-old.

“How you doing, buddy? Give me five!"

“Mr. Pibb?" said a voice from the speaker as Tim Allen high fived the dummies stiff hand.

“Yeah, that's the name we gave him," Tim Allen explained, leaning on Mr. Pibb and smiling, “We didn't have many friends down here, so they built us one."

Summer made her confusion at Grant's kindness known with a disdainful hip thrust. For the first time that day, Tim Allen was able to correctly read Summer's body language.

“He'd go get you candy and sodas, that sort of thing,” he explained, “You were nice to him."

Tim Allen's stopped, then grinned. He looked at Summer.

“Do you have to touch things to, like, understand them?" he said, excitedly.

“Not always," Summer replied.

“What's he thinking about now?” Tim Allen asked, jumping up and down like a child.

“He thinks you've had an increase in mass," Summer snarked. She had picked up a few jokes of her own to throw back at Tim Allen.

“Mr. Pibb," said Mr. Pibb.

“It's impossible to know what he thinks, Miss Jones,” Grant said as he walked in, “His program is a rudimentary 15-megabyte system. He has no thoughts."

“I suppose you don't have thoughts of what your life would be like if you were a figure skater?” Holloway said, her brain collapsing in on itself. Michael Anthony ran into the room, pointing his rifle at Grant. Two soldiers tackled the scientist to the ground and slapped fuzzy pink handcuffs onto his wrists. Grant was roughly dragged to his feet and out of the room.

“Well, then. I guess I'll leave you kids in the capable hands of Tim Allen Tim Allen," Grant shouted as the security team dragged him away.

“You do that, Grant. I'II take care of them," Tim Allen said. Skinbo slipped in through the door before Holloway slammed into it.

“Mr. Pibb, is that old Rambler still down in the hangar?” Tim Allen asked the dummy. Its reply was its name, but Tim Allen still smiled. He hadn’t felt this happy in decades.

“Got the keys?" he asked Holloway. She made a face, but relented, pulling out a massive keyring from somewhere within her folds.

“AII right, come on, guys. Watch your heads," she said, eyeing Tim Allen, who was still standing next to the training dummy. The kids eyed him as well. They all stood, waiting for Tim Allen to flip out like he usually did.

“Come on, this way. Get over here," Holloway said, annoyed. Collins began to walk towards Tim Allen.

“Go over there," Tim Allen said. He accidentally knocked into Mr. Pibb and he said his titular catchphrase.

“AII right, Pibb," Tim Allen growled. His mood swings were becoming more erratic, and Holloway noticed.


	19. Scene 19: The Saucer pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wendy's product placement? No. A Rat Problem music product placement? Yes. Check out the new Full Length by the big rat, inspired by this book. Also check out the great album art. Shout out to Extrid, Mort, Johnny Ruso, ELLCK, and Karina Kuzmiszyn for helping with the album.  
> 

Tim Allen and the gang walked down a series of hallways to a massive door. A small booth with a guard inside sat beside the huge door.

“Knock off the security cameras," Tim Allen ordered the guard loudly, “Open the door. Let's go. Go, go, go."

Tim Allen positioned the children so that when the door opened, they would see what was behind it in the best way possible.

“All right, stand right there. Ready?" he said, as the door began to groan open.

“Whoa," said Summer.

“Whoa," said Dylan sarcastically.

“It's the flying saucer from Area 51. It exists," Tim Allen said, glad that he had at least one theory proven. Now he just had to connect it to the lizard people and he’d be completely justified for killing that black kid.

“Look at that," Lard-Butt said.

“Wow," said Collins.

“We rebuilt it as best we could after it crash-landed in the late '40s," Holloway explained.

“It's really awesome," Tim Allen said. He elbowed Dylan and his elbow almost got stuck in the boys thick liquidy skin.

“Yeah, it's amazing," he said, slouching. Tim Allen slapped the back of his head.

“Yeah. It's really cool," Tim Allen said. He straightened his back and walked towards the spaceship. The literal, actual, in the movie alien god damn spaceship that they don’t go to space in because why would you ever even think to do that? Why in god’s name would you use a spaceship to explore planets when you could keep it for use by a team of children and their asshole mentor?

“And is this what's going to take us to all of our superhero gigs?” Summer said, skeptically. She was skeptical because, surely, the government could find some other use for a LITERAL SPACESHIP. Why am I so mad about this?

“I'm getting goosebumps," Tim Allen said, rubbing his crotch a little and walking into the spaceship. The door had been left open from the engineering teams last joyride. The rest of the team followed him in and through the twisting corridors to a large control room. It looked like something out a Spy Kids movie. A quality example of early 2000s CGI. Tim Allen put his hands into a bucket of slime on a table with wires sticking out of it. The ship shook a little, and slowly rose in the hanger. Tim Allen twitched, and the ship flipped out of the hanger door and spun off into the sky. The ship flipped over, and the group was flung to different sides of the room.

“Got to stabilize this thing," he said, slime sloshing out of the bucket and onto the ground. After a moment of twitching and vibrating, the ship leveled out.

“Can I try?” Summer asked.

“You want to drive?” Dylan said worriedly.

“Yeah, definitely," Summer said, pushing Tim Allen out of the way.

“AII right, just sit down there. And you want to get your hands in that green and blue slime," Tim Allen instructed the girl. She began to move the ship down out of the sky towards a nearby farm.

“Right," Tim Allen said, “Little gross in there, isn't it?”

“Nasty, yeah," Summer replied. Tim Allen grinned, nodded back to the army base, and pretended to jack off into the bucket. Summer jumped back.

“Oh, boy," Dylan said, enthusiastically.

“Let's make this thing rock," Lard-Butt said, either unfazed by touching soldier jizz and alien goo, or just oblivious to Tim Allen’s motions.

“Yeah, how do you make it go faster?" he said, confused.

“Faster? Therein lies the problem, guys, of the FE-12. We never really figured this thing out. It only goes 20 miles an hour," Holloway explained.

“Maybe there's less to figure out than there is to understand," said Lard-Butt, having an episode at the sight of a cow down in a field below.

“Hey, barbeque, to go," he said, landing the spacecraft onto the cow, embedding it into the side of the ship.

“Tucker, put the cow back," Dylan said, embarrassed at the greed of the fat little boy.

“But I'm hungry," Lard-Butt complained to Holloway. She wagged her finger matter-of-factly.

“Tucker," she said.

“AII right," Lard-Butt sighed, shaking the ship to dislodge the cow carcass. Lard-Butt began to fly towards a highway, where he could scrape the cow off on a building. He spotted a lamppost next to a Wendy's. Perfect.

“Hey, hey, hey. Watch the…” Tim Allen screamed as Lard-Butt ripped the ship at the post. There was a sound of tearing metal and the ship crashed to a halt in front of the drive thru.

“...light pole," Tim Allen said.

“Hello. Welcome to Wendy's,” said a voice from a metal box “May I take your order, please?”

“Classic Triple, lettuce, tomato," Dylan said through the window.

“Get me one," Summer said.

“Classic Triple, lettuce, tomato... I got it. Classic…” Dylan's face sagged, and he stumbled away from the window. Summer took over the order as Lard-Butt helped Dylan to sit up.

“Can you see? Can you see this?" he said, legitimately worried for the paper mache doll. He was holding some cash in front of Dylan's face.

“No, it's all green and blurry," Dylan said, his face melting down over his eyes. After a few seconds, his face had gone completely smooth, without any openings for his eyes or mouth.

“Extra fries," Summer said. Collins tugged at her shirt and crackled her order.

“Hold on a second," Summer said, motioning for Holloway to take over as she dealt with the old woman.

“I'm going to have a…” Holloway said as Summer began to drag Collins to a corner. Collins, however, had different plans, and bit and clawed until Summer let go. Holloway barely began her order before Collins had crawled in front of her and began to screech questions.

“What kind of toys do you have?" she squeezed out before Tim Allen tackled her.

“Chicken,” Holloway said, “Spicy Chicken Sandwich."

“The other order's Crispy Nuggets," Tim Allen chimed in.

“Is that it?” Holloway asked, looking around. Lard-Butt raised a pudgy hand high above his head.

“Six Frosties," he gurgled.

“Six Frosties. Chocolate," Holloway said into the box.

“All right," it replied.

“Now, what's everyone else drinking?” Holloway asked, looking around the room. Tim Allen was busy with Collins, Lard-Butt had already ordered, Dylan was comatose, and Summer was pretending to suck off the air. Holloway walked to the console and flew the ship through the drive thru to the window, snatched the bags, threw in $1000 cash and scuttled back into the ship.

“We come in peace," Lard-Butt called from somewhere inside the ship as it took off.

“Take me with you," screamed the bag boy, leaning out of the window.

 

* * *

 

 

The official _Allen_ album has been released by A Rat Problem on a ton of streaming services including:  
[Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/ca/album/allen-feat-karina-kuzmiszyn-mort-johnny-ruso-extrid/1460661329)  
[Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/album/79ux6EouMLzV7F41r8aLeZ)  
[Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_nYQ2Zv55QBE7rT4QXDk_-wyV7aE4T1Ng4)  


 

Check out the dank album art here too:


	20. Scene 20: Breakroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys take a short r&r break and reflect on life and the sentimentalization of modern news media

Dylan, Lard-Butt, and Skinbo were slouched in the break room. Limp Bizkit played softly in the background, and the titular Bizkit sat, soggy and cold, on the counter next to the sink. Michael Anthony had let them into the break room after they had had Dylan checked out by the doctors. They said he was fine, but Lard-Butt had snuck some weed into the break room anyway.

“That's right, Bob. We're outside the Wendy's where apparently a lot of people have seen some type of flying saucer," said a reporter on TV. The three laughed at the reporter. “The Wendy’s” was the funniest thing they had heard all week. It's the titular Wendy's, the only one. Lard-Butt turned off the TV and stood up on a table. He grabbed a clip of ammo and held it to his mouth like a microphone.

“I'm here with David right now, who actually works at Wendy's. David, can you tell us what you saw?" he said, making fun of the news reporters dumb serious voice. He held the clip/microphone towards Skinbo.

“I saw the flying saucer. I saw it land. I saw it make this noise that it made," blubbered the gas station attendant. Lard-Butt wasn’t sure whether he was putting on an act or not. Dylan, now only high and not in a coma, cut in.

“It went…” he blew air out of every wet flap in his body, creating the most unearthly noise that the group had ever heard, “as it wobbled, and then…”

“That's it. That's the way they sounded,” interrupted Skinbo, “That's the way it was."

“And you actually saw the aliens? I mean…” Lard-Butt riffed. Skinbo pretended to jack off.

“Well, it's not that…” Lard-Butt said, blazed out of his mind.

“The alien in the spaceship ordered from me," Dylan piped in.

“You know, I don't know. Maybe the spaceship runs on ice cream,” Dylan nudged Skinbo, “That's my theory, because he ordered a whole bunch of Frosties."

Lard-Butt, who’s hunger was unparalleled, stood and walked shakily to the break room kitchen in search of food. His eyes came to rest on the Bizkit, who’s late ‘90s early 2000s sound ebbed and flowed softly from within. Lard-Butt reached for the Bizkit. Skinbo lurched and ran to smack the Bizkit out of his hands. Lard-Butt sighed, offended, for he knew not the power of the Bizkit. If one is to eat even a small piece of the Bizkit, then they shall surely die, so sayeth Fred Durst, lord of food based curses, king of hot dog flavored water. Lard-Butt sighed dejectedly. He required food immediately. A loud noise outside the break room distracted the group, who’s attention turned from finding food to finding gay weed adventures. The trio walked out into the hallway. Grant and Larraby stood, Holloway handcuffed behind them.

“Oh, no," Skinbo said.

“Just go back and act like nothing happened," Lard-Butt said, backing up into the break room and shutting the door, leaving the two others outside.

“We had a great day. Let's just leave it at that. All right, you guys?” Dylan said, throwing down some spiders and running off down the hall, his feet making wet slapping sounds as he ran.

“If I were you, Dylan, I'd disappear," Skinbo called after his new friend, before he was caught in a chokehold by Grant. So much for gay weed adventures.


	21. Scene 21: Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angry Larraby and Grant have a heated discussion with Tim Allen about proper training procedure.

Grant and Larraby strode into Tim Allen’s room, Skinbo and Holloway in tow. Tim Allen hastily hid the dead cat under his bed and looked up, smiling, at the intruders.

“Hey, Marsha," he said, more than a little confused about what was going to happen next.

“Mr. Tim Allen. How dare you?” Larraby said, planting a grey finger square in Tim Allen’s chest. He just smiled.

“Do you even know what you've done?” Larraby barked in Tim Allen’s face.

“Yeah. I got you a hot chicken sandwich," chortled Holloway, withdrawing, with some difficulty, her precious burg. She tried to hand it to Larraby, but he kicked her in the jaw, sending her sprawling.

“No, thank you," Larraby said to the woman, whose jaw was now broken.

“Are you a vegetarian?” Tim Allen said, leaning his arm on Larraby’s shoulder.

“You're supposed to be training these kids for their first simulation. And instead, you're out gallivanting in a stolen spaceship," it was Grant’s turn to get mad. He screamed in Tim Allen’s face, spit flying out in all directions. His knuckles were white as he gripped his icepick.

“Was I gallivanting?” Tim Allen said, fluttering his eyelashes and blowing a kiss to Grant.

“Looks like the saucer's not the only thing stuck in the '50s," Grant said, slapping Tim Allen across the face. Sexual harassment would not be tolerated in this workplace, unless it came from Grant. Sexual harassment was his thing, and no half-rate comedian would cut in on his thing. He would only make exceptions for Louis and Bill because they were true funny men, unlike Tim Allen.

“You're probably 50," bubbled Holloway through her broken jaw.

“I'm not a vegetarian," Larraby said, a little hurt.

“It's a life choice. Nothing wrong with it," Tim Allen said, realizing that he may have gone too far with that joke. He patted Larraby on the shoulder and a sympathetic tear rolled down his cheek.

“Cindy," squawked Collins as she rushed into the room, ripping at any metal surfaces that she could find. She latched her claws around Larraby’s face. She had just been possessed by the ghost of Kerreen Conley, the recently assassinated mayor of Belleville, Michigan. Grant and Larraby began to back down, dragging Holloway back out. Conley still clung to the general’s face, however.

“Let go of my face, please," Larraby pleaded. The 51-year-old mayor released her talons from the cheeks of the bossy general and scurried back into Tim Allen’s room.

“What are you doing in here?” Tim Allen said to the girl who looked like an old woman and was possessed by a slightly less old woman.

“I had a bad dream," crunched Conley.

“Well, I'm sorry you had a bad dream," Tim Allen said. Skinbo crawled out of the shadows and did an excited backflip.

“That's easy to do here, I guess," Tim Allen said, trying to demean Skinbo’s accomplishments in order to make him cynical to protect him from the cold, unforgiving outside world.

“You…” Conley said, narrowing her eyes at the gas station attendant. She gnashed her teeth and did a little jig to show her displeasure with the presence of a subhuman, that being the aforementioned service worker. Gas station attendants do not have human rights in Michigan, and for good reason.

“Let's walk you back to your room," Tim Allen said, nervous that someone was expressing views more right wing than his own. Even he respected gas station attendants a little and was generally indifferent to their issue of whether to grant them citizenship.

“Can I sleep here?” Conley said, scraping a circle onto the floor.

“Just for tonight?” Tim Allen said, pretending to ponder the request.

“No, that's not a real good idea," Skinbo said to Tim Allen, worried that he could possibly be in danger from this crazy 6-year-old.

“You don't want to stay here. I snore," Tim Allen said, worried that he wouldn’t be able to smoke cigarettes with the girl in the room.

“I'm quite gassy," Skinbo said, catching on to what Tim Allen was doing. Tim Allen stood, grabbed a broom, and scooted the little girl and/or old woman out of the room. She clattered out into the hallway, scuttering up the walls and murmuring to herself thoughtfully.

“I'm scared," Skinbo said, shakily humping Tim Allen’s leg. Michael Anthony walked briskly down the hall towards the trio. Conley lunged at Tim Allen, who batted her away with his broom.

“Hello? Little help here?” Tim Allen complained to the guard. Michael Anthony snatched the girl by the collar and dragged her down the hallway with him. Tim Allen looked down at Skinbo, who clung to his leg.

“You want to stay on the couch?" he asked, beginning to walk back into his room. Skinbo nodded furiously and jumped headlong into the couch in Tim Allen’s room.

“Thanks, Mr. Timallen," he yelped happily.


	22. Scene 22: The Mayor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kerreen Conley makes a smart political move.

Michael Anthony dumped the girl possessed by the Belleville mayor into her room. He had been told by Larraby that he was to deal with the girl by placing her in confinement in her room for the night and keep her calm. It was too late to call up a security detail, so Anthony would have to deal with this crazy person for the whole night. He slammed the door closed.

“Can you let the light in?” Conley asked politely, settling down onto a bed made of two dogs stapled together.

“Yeah. I'll leave the door open. Because why would we want it dark while we're sleeping?” Anthony was grumpy. He knew that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep while he was on watch. He turned to open the door. As his back was turned, Conley slipped into a tight-fitting playboy bunny costume.

“Good night, Cindy," he said, swinging the door open to reveal a gaping maw filled with pearl white teeth. Tim Allen stood in the doorway, his foot firmly planted next to the door edge so that Anthony couldn’t close it.

“Mr. Timallen?” Conley said excitedly. If a promotion from Tim Allen could get a six-time bankruptee into the white house fronting as a successful businessman, he could definitely get a ghost in fronting as a living human person.

“Cindy, please," Tim Allen said to Anthony, holding some roses behind his back. Anthony grunted, brushing past the comedian and political juggernaut. As long as Tim Allen dealt with the possessed Collins, Anthony could get some sleep, and yet he was still grumpy. He didn’t know why.

“Am I different?” Conley asked, worried about whether Tim Allen had realized that she was possessing one of the children. If he had, then his position on ghosts would probably be cemented, and he may not help her get into a higher office than ghosts are legally allowed to hold.

“Yeah," Tim Allen said, smiling at the wrinkled face of the girl, “You know, but in a good way."

“I feel too different," Conley said, covering her bases. Tim Allen seemed to already be in on Conley’s secret, but she wasn’t sure whether he could still be swayed. She decided to play it safe and pretend to still be Collins.

“Yeah, I'm sure you do, because you're wearing a rabbit outfit," Tim Allen said, still smiling that sly grin, “You gotta go to sleep, Cindy."

“Is that why Mommy and Daddy sent me here?” Conley said, her fingers crossed behind her back that Tim Allen had at least a smidgen of humanity left that she could manipulate. Tim Allen’s smile broke, and Conley almost screamed for joy.

“Listen," Tim Allen sighed, “You were right the first day. You're special. There's nobody in the world that can do what you do. Your parents, who love you very much, they sent you here so you'd learn how to use your difference to help people."

Conley almost squealed. She had broken him, and he was to be her puppet from now on.

“Good night," Conley said, waving her fingers at the defeated comedian.

“Good night," he replied.


	23. Scene 23: Training Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Allen is too tired to teach. Skinbo has adventure through the facility.

Tim Allen had dark circles under his eyes. Summer poked him as his eyes drifted lower. He snapped up, pointing to a test dummy and drooling a little.

“That was bolted to the wall," he said. Conley sat in the corner, bending her fingers back at odd angles. Last night had been hard, but Conley had come out on top. Grant walked into the training dome, under the supervision of Michael Anthony and a few other armed guards.

“Welcome to our fully operational, multi-platform J-1000 mission simulator," Grant said, gesturing around the room at the mechanical equipment strewn about haphazardly. The guards herded the children into a group and threatened to hit them if they didn’t pay attention to Grant’s speech.

“It is imperative that you learn to avoid enemy fire,” Grant said, pacing the room, “A bit more advanced than in your day, eh?”

Grant poked Tim Allen in the ribs. Tim Allen just shrugged. Grant frowned. Tim Allen hadn’t been broken this hard since his girlfriend cheated on him with his brother. Grant had had to help cover up how Tim Allen had sent his brother into another dimension with science mumbo jumbo and pretend to rage and kill his entire science staff so that they wouldn’t contradict him. Grant crouched in front of Tim Allen and made a face.

“Yeah, in my day we just had that British guy named Ben who threw sticks at us," Grant said in a funny voice, trying to mimic Tim Allen’s slurred speech patterns, something he had picked up as a result of drug use.

“So, what are the holes for?” Dylan asked, wagging his wet hand, dripping gluey water on the other children. He pointed at a row of holes in one wall with “Gloryhole” written in sparkly sharpie above them.

“It's funny you should ask that. That's the first question people ask," Grant said, confused at the trend of people being confused at non-bathroom gloryholes. He deferred to a man in a green jumpsuit.

“Our technician is Dick. Dick?”

“The holes are for firing the paintballs," said Dick, winking his one eye at each of the children in turn. Dick was tall and lanky, while his face was an odd round shape in comparison with the rest of his body. Over one eye sat a black eyepatch, nestled in his eye socket snugly. When he smiled, his teeth looked like perfect squares, as if his they were made of those white tiles that are on the walls and/or floor of every bathroom in the world.

“AII right. I'm out of here," Dylan said, throwing a gang sign and walking out of the room. Michael Anthony sighed as the doll squelched away down the hall.

“Oh, great. Another Code Dylan," he said as three guards tackled him to the ground.

“He must like that isolation room," said Grant, trying to make up for Tim Allen’s inability to function as a jokester, laughster, goofster, or gaffster. He quickly turned and lead Tim Allen a few steps away from the children.

“We'll have to proceed without Mr. West," Grant said to the semi-conscious Tim Allen. He gave Tim Allen a little slap on the jaw.

“The objective is to get the kids to 70% combat capacity," he said, spurting mustard onto Tim Allen’s pants from a bottle that he kept in his belt, “I'm going to start them off easily, about 10%. What do you think? 10%?”

Grant slapped Tim Allen again, and he let out a little moan. Two guards ran into the room to take Tim Allen into intensive care. Tim Allen had never gotten to a level of brokenness where he failed the mustard pants test.

“Yeah, yeah. That sounds great. Dick, 10," Grant yelled out to the technician, who nodded furiously and walked out of the room. A few seconds later, a splooch sound echoed off the walls of the training dome. A soggy red protuberance protruded from the gloryhole wall with a sloppy splat. Summer almost threw up. Grant clapped his asscheaks together to get the children’s attention.

“Children, your goal is to stop the simulator by pressing that red button in the center. How hard can that be?” Dick said, flourishing his hands, pointing to the fleshy blob hung sloppily through a hole in the wall. After saying this, he, Grant, and the remaining guards swiftly jogged out of the room. Before the training dome door closed, however, a beaten-up Dylan was thrown back into the dome. The dome door slammed shut and the chortle of old machines began to creak its way through the dome. Summer could sense Dylan wondering what was happening.

“I don't know," Summer replied to Dylan’s unasked question. She stood up as machines behind the wall began to whir and drone. A paintball flew out of the wall and hit Summer square in the face. Conley ripped some strips of metal off the walls and tossed them to the other children. The paintballs flew in random directions, so if they could use the metal as shields, they could beat the test. Conley demonstrated her idea to the other children by using the shield to walk towards the button.

“Are you working on attraction or repulsion?" said Lard-Butt, confused by what he thought was Collins.

“Watch. Ready?” Conley said, bracing herself for the impact of paintballs. The machines behind the walls whirred in a mechanical fury. As she got closer, the paintballs narrowed in on Conley.

“That would be attraction," Dylan said to Lard-Butt. Summer held up her shield and joined Conley. The paintballs suddenly parted as something fell from the ceiling. There was a flash of light, and Conley and Summer were bowled down by some immense force. Kendra Rose Montagna’s ethereal form crawled out from the rubble, dusting herself off even though no dust could cling to her body. Summer had not looked up and was nursing her head. Kendra Rose Montagna threw a peanut at her. The peanut landed in an open wound on her forehead.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't…” Kendra Rose Montagna said, walking forward and sorrowfully picking the peanut out of the gash in her arch nemesis. Dylan looked at the girl before him. She was skinny and was wearing a name brand hoodie and tight ripped jeans over her ethereal body. She had a odd smile on and seemed legitimately sad that she had caused harm. Maybe Summer was overreacting at school with the assassination attempt. It was that or Kendra Rose Montagna had had a change in character. A growl emanated from somewhere behind Kendra Rose Montagna.

“Meanie," gurgled Conley, snapping her arm back into place. She lunged at Kendra Rose Montagna, who deftly dodged the old woman/6-year-old and left her flying into Summer.

“Oh, no," Kendra Rose Montagna said as the two fell over each other. Summer stood, blood soaking her yellow training suit. She clenched her fists and ran at Kendra Rose Montagna.

“Watch out," Kendra Rose Montagna said, pointing to a piece of rubble on the ground. Summer heard this too late and tripped, sending herself sprawling into Kendra Rose Montagna. She looked down at the neko girl in her arms but failed to notice the wrinkled abomination barreling towards her.

“Look out!” Dylan and Lard-Butt said, but it was too late. Kendra Rose Montagna couldn’t phase or dodge quick enough and Conley busted through the two girls, pinning Kendra Rose Montagna to the ground. Summer was dropped roughly to the ground. Kendra Rose Montagna punched Conley, who didn’t flinch. Collins’ long fingers, under the control of the former mayor of Belleville, wrapped around Kendra Rose Montagna’s blue transparent neck. Kendra Rose Montagna grabbed a piece of concrete and busted Conley over the head. This distracted her enough that Kendra Rose Montagna slipped out of her grasp and up into the air. She looked down at the children in their yellow outfits. She yawned.

“I'm getting…” She was going to say “tired”, but something behind her distracted her. Michael Anthony aimed a prototype railgun at Kendra Rose Montagna’s head.

“I want a name," Anthony commanded, unsure of who this floating girl was. She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, indicating that she wanted money before she told him her name. He withdrew a twenty from his wallet, folded it into a paper airplane and tossed it to the floating light being.

“Ten more, that's your name," Kendra Rose Montagna said, still rubbing her fingers together. Michael Anthony looked through his wallet. He had given all his money to Tim Allen for vending machine snacks.

“Get me a name," he said into his radio. All he had left was a dollar.

“Hey. How about nine more?” Kendra Rose Montagna said, trying to barter for more shekels. The children rushed out of the open door, away from the still firing paintball holes. Kendra Rose Montagna wrote her name on a piece of paper and let it drift from her hand onto the ground before exiting through the hole in the ceiling.

“There's your name," she called down to the soldier.

 

* * *

 

Scene 23.5: Skinbo’s Journey

Skinbo stood, pulled his jacket close around him, and descended into the facility. It could get cold in Area 52, deep in the dark and damp halls of the underfacility. As a weapon, Skinbo carried a glock, given to him by Michael Anthony to protect himself from Kerreen Conley, if she were to ever commit a hate crime against him. In return for the glock, Skinbo owed Michael Anthony one favour. What that favour would be had yet to be decided. Skinbo did not particularly care what his task would be. The protection would be enough. As he walked, the hall seemed to get smaller. It was gradual, so gradual that Skinbo questioned his eyes. Surely he was being paranoid. The guards under Anthony were always talking about how, if you went too deep into Area 52, you may never come back out. Skinbo wouldn’t normally venture so far into the facility without a guide, but he was on a mission. Last night, after Skinbo had fallen asleep, Tim Allen had snuck out to spend the night with a certain mayor. So, when Skinbo was awakened by an odd voice, he assumed it was only Tim Allen. He turned on the light. No Tim Allen to be seen. He poked his head into the hallway. Down the hall a bit, a light flickered and someone turned the corner. Skinbo only caught a glimpse of their heel, bare, bony, and pale, before it disappeared behind the corner. Skinbo followed. Now, here he was, following each flickering light closely. A shiver ran down his back. A cold air tingled the hair on his neck, like the breath of a corpse. He could feel the dampness in it, and he was sure that there was someone behind him. He slowly turned, but there was nothing there. Only the cold metal floor and the harsh white light of the fluorescent bulbs above him. He turned back and looked down the hall for the next flicker. Like clockwork, a light far away dimmed for a moment, flickered, and then turned off. Then one closer, then another, slowly advancing towards the attendant. Skinbo gripped the pistol in his hands, it’s metal and leather grip cold and a little wet. Or perhaps his hands were clammy. Or…      perhaps…. ? The darkness crept forward, it’s rate staying steady, seeming to sync itself with the blood that rushed through Skinbo’s ears. He tried to run, but his feet seemed to land in the same spot whenever he lifted them to take a step. The darkness was close now, and the hall had grown yet colder. Skinbo could once again feel the cold, wet breath on his neck, and he could almost hear the rasp of the lungs which supplied that breath over his own blood. The darkness slowly approached, creeping ever on. Skinbo could only watch in horror as, deep within the shadow, something moved, silent and unseen, just below the border of light. The light from the fluorescent bulbs seemed to be sucked into the darkness, concealing some unknown, no, unknowable monster. Then, from deep within the shadow, a glint of light flashed for a second. The breath at the back of his neck retreated. The dark had stopped three lights away, and hung for a moment, like smoke, before dissipating. The lights were on. The hall was cold and dry. Skinbo himself was bathed in sweat. He put one cold hand on the back of his neck. Damp, definitely, though whether it was from sweat or something else he could only guess. Laying before him, three lights away, barely before where the darkness had stopped, was a broadsword. He walked forward, picked it up, and swung it. It was light. It felt like it balanced perfectly with his arm. A sound behind him made him jump, and he spun around, broadsword clutched in both hands. Skinbo sat up. Tim Allen had walked into the room to turn off the alarm that he had set the night before. He looked sad. And tired. Skinbo shook his head to clear it from the dream. He felt a little drained from the night. He slid sluggishly off the couch and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Tim Allen didn’t say a word after turning off the alarm. He was still in his clothes from yesterday, Skinbo noticed. He noticed something else too. In the corner of the room, propped up by a hamper, a broadsword sat, glinting in the light. Skinbo, for just a moment, felt the cold, wet breath on the back of his neck.


	24. Scene 24: A Mere Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Allen's bad teaching backfires.

Grant walked down the hallway towards the training dome to see how progress was going with the paintball exercise. As he turned the corner, he was nearly knocked down by the force of Dylan running past.

“Excuse me, Dr. Grant," he yelled and skidded down the hall, leaving a trail of ink and paint as he went.

“Sorry, Dr. Grant," Summer said as she pushed past Grant, following Dylan.

“Why the rush, kids?” Grant called after them. He looked back down the hall to see Lard-Butt running, screaming, down the hall.

“Watch out!” he yelled barreling past. With Lard-Butt out of the way, Grant was met face to face with the slightly decaying body of Collins, her skin draped loosely around her, a broken bone protruding from her chest. Grant braced for impact.

Michael Anthony examined the rifle. It was long and sleek, with a barrel with transparent screens over it. Inside, a bright blue energy crackled and sparked in a jagged double helix.

“You see, it all works together in a double helix," said Larraby, repeating what Grant had told him about the weapon. Anthony was tasked with capturing the intruder, Kendra Rose Montagna, and Grant had left instructions on how to do so. He was busy dealing with an issue with one of the kids, however, so Larraby was tasked with briefing. Anthony nodded, thinking about the implications of the weapon.

“So, if you can manage to…” He was cut off by Larraby, who had gotten a call on his radio.

“I've got a thing. If you could get the double helix going, I'll be right back," he said, before picking up the radio barking orders into it.

“Think double helix," he called back to Anthony before shutting the door, leaving the security head holding the weapon in the darkness of the lab.

“That was ridiculous," Summer said, picking paint out of her hair. Her, Dylan, and Lard-Butt had retreated to the break room and were nursing their wounds.

“That was really bad," Dylan agreed, trying to curry favor with the only girl in the room.

“I thought it was fun," Lard-Butt said, weed brownie in hand. As he said this, the door burst open to reveal an amazingly upbeat and chipper Tim Allen. He had been shot up with so much morphine that he couldn’t feel the pain of existence that had crushed him late last night.

“Hey, guys. I shook down our robot buddy, Mr. Pibb," he said, showing off his newly acquired mannequin arm, “and I got you some snacks."

He dumped some weed brownies onto the table.

“I got mine already. Thanks," Lard-Butt said, waving his edible around in its package. The other two glared at Tim Allen sullenly.

“You guys look like modern art," Tim Allen said, trying to lighten the mood. He had been feeling better lately, almost cleansed by that night with Conley. He smiled at the bruised, paint splattered children.

“Come on. How'd you guys think the training went?" he said, elbowing Dylan, who’s perpetually wet newspaper and glue arm folded inward. Summer scowled.

“Oh, please. Like you care," she mumbled, turning her head away from the comedian. Dylan sank deeper into his chair.

“Hey. Chill out a little bit. I'm not the one that dropped you off here at the military base, you know," Tim Allen said, a little hurt.

“No," Summer said, standing, “you didn't drop us off here, but you were supposed to teach us."

“Thanks for all the training, Cap," Dylan said, before slipping into an air duct and away from the group.

“You don't care about us," Summer said, kicking at Lard-Butt to respond as well. Finally, laboriously, he stood. Tim Allen hoped that Lard-Butt would defend him.

“She's right," Tim Allen’s face sank.

“I got hit with so many paintballs, I've got more bruises than skin," Lard-Butt glared at the comedian. A screech from somewhere outside heralded the arrival of Conley. She ripped through the open door, turning and slamming it shut. She grabbed a chair and stuck it under the handle. She stepped back as Grant banged on the door.

“Mr. Tim Allen?" she said, turning to Tim Allen.

“What?” Tim Allen said nervously.

“You care about us, right?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes cutely.

“I brought cake," Tim Allen said, holding up the edibles that he brought. He was glad that at least one kid was on his side. Summer stepped forward.

“Don't be fooled, Cindy. He only cares about himself," she said, taking Conley by her hands and bringing her towards the other exit “Come here. Let's go get you cleaned up." 

Tim Allen sighed and sat for a moment. Then he grabbed an edible and walked out into the hall.

“Wait. Hey, look. Cake," he cried, trying to convince them to come back, but they were already far away.


	25. Scene 25: Kendra Rose Montagna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kendra Rose Montagna and Dylan have a heart to heart chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops didn't post for a while, here is a bunch...

Michael Anthony held a radio to his ear. On the other end was Skinbo, who sat crouched behind a dresser.

“Smells like old socks in here," he complained, noting Dylan’s habit of beating up the bishop into socks. Anthony sighed.

“Is he in there?" he asked. From the other end, he heard the crash of a vent cover and Dylan sloppily entering the room. From a scratchy hidden camera video feed, Michael Anthony could see all. Dylan stood up from his fall, dusted himself off, and turned to a wall. He flicked a spider absentmindedly, and it was caught in midair by a glowing had protruding through the wall. Kendra Rose Montagna stepped out into the room. Anthony almost jumped for joy. Dylan smiled at her and sat on his military issue bunk bed.

“Sucks being in here, doesn't it?” Kendra Rose Montagna said, sitting next to him. Dylan responded by picking up the handmade throw blanket that lay on the bed.

“You know, Larraby actually knitted this," he said, holding the blanket in one floppy hand.

“He and Grant, buck naked by a fire, knit one, purl two," Kendra Rose Montagna joked, painting the picture with her hands with light. Tasteful joke my dude. Skinbo stroked the large weapon in his arms. Dylan smiled sadly.

“They knitted this to contain people like us," he said. Kendra Rose Montagna bit her lip, something she did when she couldn’t understand something. Dylan looked at her.

“I got out of here three times," he explained “And I'II bet Cindy could get out of here whenever she wanted to."

Then it hit her. Larraby and Grant were using the kid’s emotions to keep them here. That’s why Tim Allen was such always arguing with them, he sucked at being likable. The kids liked Grant, they enjoyed Holloway’s antics, but Tim Allen was just too much of an asshat for the kids to want to stay in his presence. Dylan watched her thought process and smiled as realization slowly spread across her face. Then it stopped, and she thought for a moment.

“When I was her age," she said, motioning with her hands that it was before she got her powers, “I used to just have one leg work faster than the other. I did this kind of fast hopping thing."

“So, you could skip?” Dylan already knew a bit about her. He knew how she was a tomboy, and that she would always try to do stuff with a group of guys in her neighborhood. He knew that she was insecure about how people saw her, and that she made up for it by focusing on her looks. He knew that she bullied Summer because Summer was pretty, and she felt insecure. He didn’t, however, know how she got her powers.

“Hop. Let's go with hop. One day, a bunch of my buddies (the aforementioned group of guys in her neighborhood) wanted to go down to the creek, you know, to throw fish at each other, paint our face. Guy stuff, you know."

She looked down at her hands. They were shaking a little. She clasped them tight between her legs and looked back at Dylan.

“I wanted to go there so bad that I concentrated, and I just began to do my little…” Her hands freed themselves and circled around each other.

“Skipping thing," offered Dylan.

“Hopping," she corrected, sheathing her hands again, “All of a sudden, man, I was there. Boy, they noticed that. And then other people noticed."

She hung her head. Dylan was a little confused as to why she was so sad.

“People like the Zenith Program, they noticed," she finally said. Dylan’s eyes, or rather the slots in his paper mache face, widened.

“So they dragged me and my…” She gulped down tears, “They dragged me and my older brother…”

She could barely contain herself. Her body shivered a little. Here was something new.

“I didn't know you had a brother," Dylan said, putting his arm around her. He didn’t faze through her. She composed herself, gulped, and continued. Anthony gripped the table. He was so focused on the light girl’s story that he didn’t notice a bloodied Grant step into the control room. He didn’t notice as Grant raised the butt of his icepick, and he didn’t notice until too late that he had been struck hard on the back of the head.

“They dragged me here, and Grant…” Grant leaned over the unconscious guard and pressed the activate button on the radio. He whispered into the radio. Almost immediately, Skinbo snapped up from behind the dresser. The weapon, fully charged and glowing, spewed forth a bright blue beam of energy. The beam caught Kendra Rose Montagna square in the chest, ripping off Dylan’s arm, which had been around her shoulder. She tried to move away under the beam, but she couldn’t. Dylan’s wound spewed forth spiders. Skinbo wrenched a lever on the gun, and the beam glowed blindingly bright for a second, then dissipated. The room was dark, except for the glow of the Helix and a blinking green light on the weapon’s side. Guards burst through the door, snatching up the hysterical Dylan, treading on his spiders and subduing him. He thrashed around, yelling and cursing, but to no avail. Grant’s secret was safe, the escapee was captured, and only at the cost of Dylan’s arm.


	26. Scene 26: Enhanced Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan gets the ol' Guantanamo Bay treatment.

Grant punched another hole through Dylan’s chest. He screamed with pain, his remaining arm gripping the chair he was tied to. The zip-ties cut into his paper skin, and the more he struggled, the worse it got. Grant had been “enhancedly interrogating” for some time now. It felt like hours, but Dylan couldn’t be sure. He had been telling the truth, he didn’t know what happened to Kendra Rose Montagna’s brother, but Grant didn’t believe him. Grant slammed his fist through Dylan’s jaw, which sputtered up gluey, inky water. Dylan’s head hung low. Before Grant could go in for another attack, Larraby held up a hand from the corner of the room.

“I think he's had enough. Let him out," he said, realizing that all the energy that Grant was spending beating up Dylan could have been used to beat up himself. Grant scowled. He snatched the back of Dylan’s chair and dragged him to the holding cell.

“Come on, Dylan," Grant said, giving Dylan one last wet smackeroo before ripping the zip-ties off and leaving the room. Dylan heard the click of the door lock, and he sat down. He tore some loose strips of newspaper from his legs and began to replace the holes Grant had punched through him. Outside, in the cell block main office, a radio signal patched through.

“This is Control," said the guard through the radio.

“This is Mr. Grant. You can release Dr. West," was the scratchy reply. The guard, confused, looked in through the window for Dr. Grant. He had just seen Grant walking by recently, why hadn’t he released Dylan himself? For that matter, why would he call Dylan Dr. West?

“I'm sorry,” said the radio “This is Dr. West. Could you release Mr. Grant?”

The guard was really confused now.

“Okay, you want us to release…” the guard said, looking down over the roster of isolation cells.

“No, don't release Dr. Grant. Release Mr. West," the voice boomed through the radio. The guard nearly dropped his roster. A senior security code flashed onto a monitor. The guard couldn’t argue with that.

“Wait, you want us... You just said…” gurgled the guard fearfully.

“Just do what I say!” said the voice.

“Yes, sir," said the guard, remotely opening Dylan’s cell.


	27. Scene 27: Deep Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Allen decides to actually train the children. At least one death occurs. I can't remember.

Dylan stepped out into the hallway. A figure in heavy protective armor stood, looming in front of him. The guard motioned for Dylan to follow. Dylan complied. As they walked, another guard joined along behind them. Dylan was boxed in. The soldiers had on metal masks, which covered their faces completely. They each carried odd looking weaponry, strange boxy guns with strange, fluid engravings in them. They walked for what seemed like hours, deep into the facility. As they walked, Dylan tracked signs and maps and doors. They had just walked into the science section when he snarkily said “Two days and counting."

The guards immediately drew their weapons, looking around hurriedly. The guard in front motioned for the group to move slowly forward. Dylan was confused. It was just a joke, they hadn’t actually been walking for two days. As they crept along, Dylan peeked down an intersecting hallway. He recognized a familiar vending machine down the hall and smiled.

“I'm pretty sure the ice cream's this way," he said. The guard behind him stood up straight and looked at the other, who nodded. The first motioned down the hall. The group took the small detour down the side hall for ice cream. One guard quickly tapped an id card on the machine and punched in the buttons for three of the low quality ice cream bars. After the detour, the group got back on track. After what felt like an hour of walking, the group finally stopped in front of a large door.

“‘Outdoor Survival Simulator’? Sweet," Dylan said. The door opened to a control room, which contained the other children, who were marveling at the technology of the room, and Tim Allen, who stood smirking in the center. His plan was to do some tests with the kids before Grant noticed that his authority had been overridden.

“This room is so cool," Lard-Butt said, walking up to Dylan and the guards. Then, he noticed something behind Dylan.

“What's Dr. Grant doing in there?" he said, laughing a little, “Look."

Through a vent in the wall, a pair of round glasses shone out of the darkness within. Tim Allen was struck with an immense fear. Dylan was hurriedly ushered into the room by the guards. Grant must have been tracking them since Dylan had said the word “counting”.

“Close the door. Kids," he said in a low voice. Summer frantically pressed buttons on a control panel, she had never seen Tim Allen this afraid. The door began to close.

“Very good. That's great. It's closing up," he said as the door began to drop down from the ceiling. One of the guards backed up through the door, but the other was still outside.

“Keep it open just a…” screamed the guard on the other side. Summer looked at Tim Allen, who slowly shook his head.

“It's going... Oh, no, it's gone... No, no," screamed the guard, but it was too late. The door shut with a clunk of metal. Outside, the muted sound of carnage began to grind away, the screams of the guard muffled by the thick metal walls.

“It closed," Tim Allen sighed and leaned back against the wall, “Good job."

“Shouldn't you be in bed? Seriously,” Grant screamed outside, “Are you waiting for Peter Pan?”

Everyone stood, frozen in place, waiting for the terrible screaming to stop. At this point, they weren’t sure whether it was the guard or Grant who was still screaming, but either was terrifying. Dylan silently snuck a spider onto Lard-Butt’s back. As the screams continued, the spider crawled up Tucker’s back and onto his shoulder. Then, all was silent. Tim Allen could hear his ragged, rough breath, his heart pounding in his ears. An ear ripping screech came from Lard-Butt’s side of the room. Dylan plucked the spider off his friends shoulder and high-fived Tim Allen.

“I'm just kidding around. Tucker," he said, doing some sick breakdance moves. Tim Allen looked over at Lard-Butt, who was up against a control panel.

“Could you back off the control panel a little bit?" he said, stepping towards the traumatized Lard-Butt, “There are buttons on there I really don't want you to push, because…”

Lard-Butt took a step back and slipped on the gluey water that Dylan was perpetually leaking, slamming his back hard into the panel. There was a sickening crunch as he fell to the ground.

“I told you not to…” Tim Allen fumed. Before he could get his sentence out, the control panel sparked and caught fire. The overhead sprinkler system shot into action, drenching the group.

“Why didn't you listen to me? Okay, that's it," Tim Allen screamed. He had had enough of these children’s antics. They were going to sit and wait for the sprinklers to turn off until they learned their lesson. 

“Summer, I want you to open that door,” Conley said out of Collins’ body, “I want the rain to stop right away, please."

The high, grating voice of Collins made Tim Allen only more irritable.

“You're making me very angry, children," he grabbed Summer’s hand, which hovered over the door button. He dragged her to the corner of the room and roughly threw her down. Summer glared up at Tim Allen.

“This is not funny. This is not…” Tim Allen raised his hand, as if he were going to hit her.

“What's he doing?” Lard-Butt asked. His back was broken and his head was facing the wrong way so he could not see, but he could hear the astonished gasps of the other children. He could see, however, Collins’ puppet like form prance on top of another control panel.

“Press another button. Do not push button," she cawed like a parrot from her perch. Tim Allen whipped around.

“I told you, no button. If you…” Conley hovered Collins’ hand over the button.

“No more buttons," Tim Allen said. Summer stood up behind him. Tim Allen had taken her by surprise, but she wouldn’t let that get in her way again. She pushed past the fuming Tim Allen.

“Do it, Cindy," she said. Collins’ bony hand clattered against the button. The door opened on the carnage in the hall. Grant was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, nasty,” said Summer, dryly “Come on."

She motioned to her compatriots, who followed her wordlessly from the room, stepping over the mutilated corpse of the guard that was left outside. The other guard still stood with Tim Allen in the sprinklers.

“It is the emotional core that is missing in these children's lives," Tim Allen explained to him. He walked out of the room, leaving the guard, confused and scared, to deal with the cleanup. Tim Allen stood in the hallway. As long as Dylan could avoid capture by the soldiers, he could continue his training in secret. The whole paintball incident was unfortunate, and he couldn’t trust anyone to train these kids but himself. He would have to be wary. 

 

* * *

 

Scene 27.5: Torture

Kendra Rose Montagna struggled against the magnetic braces that held her in place.

“...that magnetizes so you can't move," Grant said, laying his hand on a brace. Kendra Rose Montagna glowered at the scientist. Grant flipped the shock switch for another second. Kendra Rose Montagna’s eyes flared as she tried in vain to break free. Energy crackled around her arms as she thrashed at her invisible bonds. After three or four seconds, he released the switch. Kendra Rose Montagna cursed and wriggled against the magnetism. Grant grinned sadistically, positioning a large machine in line with Kendra Rose Montagna’s forehead.

“Put your head against these little diodes and they give you 13 times the lethal dose of Gamma radiation," he gurgled gleefully. Kendra Rose Montagna lay back against the metal restraints, gritting her teeth, or at least where her teeth would be if she had any. Grant leaned over the shock machine. He adjusted the volt nob and flipped the switch. This time, however, Kendra Rose Montagna was ready. She clenched her ethereal jaw and gripped at the magnetic braces. The lights flickered as she fought to keep still. She concentrated, trying to slowly push off from the magnet braces. She closed her eyes. That was a mistake. Grant jacked the nob up and Kendra Rose Montagna was hit with a harder wave of electricity. She hadn’t expected it, and her body flashed with energy. After a few seconds, she went limp in the magnet grip. Grant flipped the switch off.


	28. Scene 28: Dylan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan's true power is revealed

Tim Allen had looked everywhere. He had looked in her room, the dome, the training room, the break room, everywhere. He had been searching for Summer for at least two hours. Maybe she had been moving from place to place as he searched? Or maybe…

Tim Allen burst into Dylan’s latest hiding spot, a cabinet in the breakroom kitchen. He almost yelled “aha!”, but he caught himself. Dylan sat, playing with a spider between his fingers. His new arm was still thin, no more than a few strips of wet newspaper, as they didn’t have any glue. It had been almost a week since Tim Allen had helped Dylan escape, and he had been hiding from isolation guards for the entire time. Dylan frowned. Tim Allen kicked a track can, mad that Summer wasn’t there.

“And that made you more powerful?” Dylan said, mocking Tim Allen’s angry outburst. Tim Allen grimaced for a moment, but then smiled. He snatched Dylan by some paper mache and dragged him over to the isolation cells. He showed Dylan the interrogation cell that he had been in last week.

“Dylan, they're not going to put you in here. That's why I'm here," Tim Allen said menacingly, “To encourage your talents naturally."

Dylan didn’t respond. His face was smooth, no flaps open to see or hear or talk, and he had gone limp. Tim Allen didn’t even know if Dylan knew where they were. Then he remembered something. He slapped Dylan’s wet cheeks until Dylan woke up.

“Dylan, I'm talking to you," he said, screaming in a funny voice, “Where do you go when you fuzz out like that?”

“I…” He stuttered back.

“You don't perchance get a little headache over your eye when you do that, do you?” Tim Allen said, fluttering his eyelashes seductively.

“Maybe," Dylan said, unsure about what was happening.

“Maybe?” Tim Allen said, smacking the boy again.

“Maybe," he replied definitely. Tim Allen grinned so wide that his gums began to bleed.

“Dylan, I got an idea," he spurted, “I want you to think about Summer right now. Stand here and see if you can find her."

Dylan looked confused, or at least as confused as he could with his face still a little melty.

“But she's nowhere near here," he protested. Tim Allen sighed.

“I understand that. Trust your instincts. Go down this hallway in your mind and find her," Tim Allen said. Dylan’s face melted back down. Tim Allen held his limp body. A flap sputtered open to speak.

“I'm in her room," he gurgled. Tim Allen almost punched a hole through Dylan’s soggy head. He had already checked there.

“No, I…” He began to tell Dylan off, but then he remembered that Dylan didn’t have ears at the moment, only a mouth.

“I can see her dancing," the mouth said. Tim Allen almost did a dance as well. He slapped Dylan back to consciousness.

“This is unbelievable. This is a real gift. It's called mind-sight," he explained excitedly, “Look, these kids are going to need a leader. This team needs one."

Dylan was confused again. Thinking this much hurt his head.

“And a leader is someone who can see the way?" he asked, slurring his words together through his slowly adjusting mouth. His facial features slowly slid back into his head.

“I think that may be you," Tim Allen said, trying to explain it simply so that Dylan could process it with his mind fried. Tim Allen set off speed walking for Summer’s room again, hoping to catch her before she left. Dylan had to jog to keep up with Tim Allen’s beautiful fluid movements.

“And which one of the old team had the mind-sight thing like me?" he said, poking Tim Allen in the side.

“Oh, Marksman," Tim Allen answered.

“Marksman,” panted Dylan, pondering the name “What happened to him? And your girlfriend, Ace?”

Tim Allen picked up his pace a little.

“They all lost their lives doing what they do, being heroes," his voice wavered a bit, but Dylan chalked it up to his bad speed walking technique. In his mind, a true speed walker could have a fluid conversation while walking without any irregular vocal inflections like panting, heavy breathing, or wavering voice. He put it out of his mind.

“Like in the comic book?”

“Yeah," Tim Allen looked straight ahead.

“So, this killer, Concussion… I thought that was all made up," Dylan said, struggling to keep up, his feet slapping against the cold floor. Tim Allen felt his heart rate quicken. Then he realized that Dylan was talking about the comics and not about the hoax that Grant and he had created.

“Some of it was made up," Tim Allen said flatly. Dylan almost felt like Tim Allen didn’t want to talk about the old team. Why wouldn’t he want to talk about his dead friends and the incident that ruined his life to a being made entirely of newspaper, water, glue, and spiders.

“So, this maniac wiped out the whole team?” Dylan said. Tim Allen gritted his teeth and walked faster. His speed walking form got a little worse.

“It really wasn't his fault," Tim Allen called back, “I mean, they made him into that."

That was a lie. His brother had killed the team, to be sure, but it wasn’t Gamma-13, or the government that had turned him evil. It was Tim Allen. When Ace and Concussion had swapped fluids, so to speak, Tim Allen had lead the team against the two. Concussion, enhanced by radiation, had been able to fend off the team, but he relented when Tim Allen killed Ace. With them being the only two left, Tim Allen sent his brother into an alternate dimension, and had Grant kill all the members of the science team to silence any witnesses to the crime. Did he regret it? Of course. Did he hate himself? Well, why do you think he started doing heroin? Dylan reached some conclusion in his head as Tim Allen recollected his past failures. He was drawn back to reality when Dylan reached his epiphany.

“He was part of the team?" he gurgled, and his jaw dropped, literally, off his face. He turned back to go grab it from the ground.

“Yeah," Tim Allen hadn’t realized that Dylan had fallen behind.

“And you trusted him. He was your friend, and he…” Dylan spurted, adjusting his jaw. Tim Allen spun around, angered at Dylan for speaking out of turn. He ran up to Dylan and slapped him across the face. Dylan fell to the ground.

“You don't know what you're talking about, okay?” Tim Allen squealed. Dylan’s eyes glazed over again. Tim Allen was about to kick his limp body down the hall when he gurgled a little. Tim Allen knelt down and put his ear to Dylan’s mouth. Dylan’s breath came out in barely a whisper.

“Concussion was your brother?”

“His name was Connor," Tim Allen said.


	29. Scene 29: True Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By far the worst chapter in the book. The second half is trash. What happens in this chapter? Holloway is creepy, that's about it really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scene 29.5: Note 2
> 
> Once again, we reach a point of dread. Now, once again, this is because it’s just back and forth dialogue. The basic outline of what would have happened would be that a guard tries to stab Lard-Butt, someone shoots Dylan, and then they congratulate each other. Then Grant and Holloway talk about the team. It’s not that I couldn’t do something with it, I did actually write something for the dialogue here. It was just boring as all hell. As well, I honestly can’t wait to write the next bit. A lot of this is turning out really well, and so I want to keep boring bits to a minimum. So, to keep the plot going, this scene ends with the kids being recaptured. More details will be written in later scenes. I’d like to talk about something else now.
> 
> I count at least three semi-homophobic jokes in this movie, not to mention Tim Allen’s weird sexist jokes. Oddly enough, the only smutty fanfictions I found on Zoom were gay. One even (I don’t know if this was intentional) explained a little bit of Tim Allen’s homophobia. I’ll talk about those in a later note, but keep those jokes in mind. One has happened already, but we’ve still got two to go. Also keep in mind that I haven’t seen the movie, so I don’t know if these jokes are even said by Tim Allen. I still don’t like the movie.

Holloway stood in Summer’s doorway, her tiny round figure silhouetted by the bright hallway lights. Summer stopped dancing. Her hairbrush was still clasped like a microphone in one hand. She stepped down off her bed and walked over to the miniature woman. Holloway’s eyes locked on Summer’s neck. Her mouth seemed to widen around the circumference of her spherical body. She twisted and stretched so that her mouth was level to the teenage girls neck.

“Summer, what's with the necklace?" she crooned soulfully, licking her thin lips with her rough tongue. Summer took a step backwards as one bony hand reached out and ran it’s cracked fingernail over the locket on her neck.

“It was the last thing my parents gave me before they left," she said, gulping a little. Holloway looked... different, somehow. She looked less like something that you would laugh at and more like something you would run away from. Her mouth was wide, and her eyes seemed to have sunken into her head a little. She had twisted herself up to be a little taller, and she seemed to have gotten more lumpy as she did so. Points stuck out at odd angles from her body, like there was something inside her, itching to get out. With her widened mouth, Summer could see that her back teeth were long and thin, like marble pillars stuck through her mouth. What was more, Summer couldn’t read Holloway. She was usually able to see people’s feelings, but Holloway was...empty.

“I guess they couldn't handle my powers," Summer explained. Even though Holloway was always weird, Summer had never felt this nervous around her before.

“Can I…” Holloway reached out for Summer’s locket. She brought her face in close to Summer’s neck, her mouth widening, her eyes gleaming in the low light. A shadow passed over the pair. Someone was in the doorway. Holloway whipped around, her fingers curling and her teeth barred. The guard was taken aback by Holloway’s new appearance.

“I'm sorry, Miss Holloway. We couldn't find him anywhere," he said, saluting the wrinkled scientist. Holloway straightened, her fingers uncurling. She breathed out raspily and smoothed out her lab coat.

“Okay. Thank you. AII right. Well, we'll just have to proceed without Mr. Tim Allen today," she said, motioning for Summer to follow her. She lead Summer to a small classroom that held the rest of the children. Holloway took a seat at the front and Summer sat down beside Lard-Butt. Dylan was, of course, absent.

“If everyone will open up their books…” Holloway began. Before she could begin her lesson, however, Grant burst through the door.

“Hey, sorry I'm late, but I had to get my gang together," he said. Isolation guards poured into the room, grabbing the children and holding small various instruments up to them.

“Make the measurements, guys,” Grant called to the guards, “Don't be afraid to tickle them."

He turned to Holloway, who was bent out of shape both literally and figuratively.

“It almost looks like you're glad to see me," he said, booping her on the point where her nose would be if she had one.

“No, no, I'm not... I'm not glad to see you," she protested, realizing her wide mouth looked like it was smiling.

“I mean, the children are glad to see you. And, well, I guess if they're glad to see you, then I'm glad to see you. I don't know," she said. As long as he didn’t questing her big ol’ mouth, she would be able to complete her plan to vore the entire universe.

“Okay. I'm glad," he said. Then he turned to the guards, who were all looking at him, waiting for orders. For a moment, nobody moved. Grant sighed.

“Go ahead," he said. Anthony’s guards never take initiative, unlike the scientists. Grant hated working with guards, it felt so archaic. After each guard had taken their readings, they brought the readings up to Grant and left to deal with other matters. After the last guard left, Grant clapped.

“Okay. Well, anyway, kids, this is what we're going to do. We're gonna continue your physical training, along with your teamwork exercises to complement your internal strengths," he explained to the kids. There was a thumping from a vent, but Grant dismissed it. Lard-Butt raised his hand.

“When do we get names?" he asked. Grant spelled out “blood” with his fingers and then gave Lard-Butt a slap.

“We'll deal with that, but right now, most importantly, I want to deal with the fundamentals, and there's two fundamentals, control and execution," he said. The vent thumping got louder.

“Think about it. Control and execution," he repeated. Dylan busted through the ceiling vent, a rope of carefully braided newspaper dropped down behind him.

“Come on, guys. Follow me," he said, climbing up the rope. Grant and Holloway were shocked. They were even more shocked when Dylan rapped the entirety of the song “Face Down Ass Up” by 2 Live Crew. Summer and Cindy were already in the vent by the time Grant realized that he had to call security. Lard-Butt had the makeshift rope tied around his waist and the group in the vent was about to haul him up when a guard ran back into the room.

“One. Two. Three. Pull," Dylan said as the team heaved Lard-Butt into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now is the end of Act 2. I haven't been keeping up with uploading on time, so it'll just be a day until more chapters are posted. Stay tuned, the third act is the best, in my opinion.


	30. Scene 30: Resistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there is some violence in this one, ooooooh.

Kendra Rose Montagna almost threw up. She couldn’t physically do it because she was a being of pure light energy and therefore had no stomach, nor food to throw up. And yet, as Grant flipped the switch once again, through her convulsions, something welled up inside her. She had thrown up once before, back before she had gotten her powers. It felt now like how she remembered that feeling. As hundreds of volts of electricity pounded through her, her shaking hands slipped out from the grip of the magnetic braces, although only for a second. Grant flipped the switch off. Kendra Rose Montagna looked down at her hands. Her usually bright, translucent hands were now cloudy and opaque. Something had changed. She felt weak, drained, sick to her stomach. But she didn’t have a stomach. She didn’t have one. She didn’t have a stomach. Her stomach heaved, and she wretched for the first time in years. A trickle of grey cloudy liquid dribbled out of her mouth. She could feel it roll down off the roof of her mouth. She wretched again, her body twisting under the magnets. This time, something seemed to click and a waterfall of grey vomit erupted out of her mouth. For the first time in her life, Kendra Rose Montagna was truly afraid. Larraby walked into the room holding his nose.

“I ain't cleaning that up," Kendra Rose Montagna said to the two men, not letting on that she was scared. Larraby ignored her and turned to Grant for his opinion. Grant sighed.

“Our only hope lies with Marsha and Timallen training the kids," he said doubtfully. He was sure that Kendra Rose Montagna was done for. Larraby, however, wasn’t. He looked back at the now opaque girl held delicately in midair by the magnetic braces. Grant frowned.

“You can't be considering Gamma radiation after what happened to Timallen's brother?” Grant said in disbelief. Larraby couldn’t make that mistake again, certainly not with a being as powerful as Kendra Rose Montagna. Larraby looked into Grant’s eyes and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Concussion becoming evil was a horrible result," he admitted, “He's coming for Timallen sooner than I thought. And this is where he'll emerge."

He drew up a map on one of the monitors in the lab. The map was of Area 52, with a red dot in the center of one of the training rooms. Larraby pulled up the coordinates of quantum anomalies as an overlay to the map.

“These will allow you to see the dimensional rift we've been tracking,” he said, pointing out markers on the map, “He's more powerful than I thought."

Grant sighed and looked away from the screen. Larraby straightened to his full height. He looked doubtfully at Kendra Rose Montagna, who was mouthing profanities at the two. After a moment for consideration, he caved in to Grant’s request.

“You better have a plan that works this time, birdbrain," he said. Grant smiled. That was just what he wanted to hear. He closed the window with the map and pulled up his plans for a device in the R&D archives.

“Well, the kids will have to distract him so that we can launch the sonic net I've designed,” Grant explained, “The net will capture him in such a way that it causes him to concuss back on himself."

Larraby looked back at Kendra Rose Montagna.

“Is that our only option?" he said, putting a hand on his bald head.

“Well, if Timallen still had his powers, his speed could create a mega vortex which would trap  Concussion and reverse the dark effects of the Gamma radiation," Grant suggested, “How much time have we got?"

“Forty-eight hours. Tops," Larraby replied. Grant cursed under his breath. Not enough time. It was the net or Gamma then, and he couldn’t risk Kendra Rose Montagna becoming any more antagonistic to the government.


	31. Scene 31: Summer’s Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer and Holloway have a heart to heart

Holloway knocked on Summer’s door. One of her flowing, gravity defying dresses was draped around her new shoulders. Her figure was thin and bony now, her body no longer round and bulbous like a raisin. She was still quite wrinkled, and her mouth was still quite wide, but her eyes seemed to shine far brighter than usual, so that was a plus. She held a large garbage bag over her shoulder, but held it as though it weighed nothing. Summer opened the door a crack and looked out. It was around nine o’clock at night, and she had her protective gear halfway off.

“Anybody home?” Holloway said through the crack. Summer sighed and opened the door.

“Hi."

“Hey," Holloway said excitedly. Summer was too tired to be unnerved by Holloway’s new body. After the escape attempt, Dylan had been recaptured and returned to his cell, and the rest of them had been stuck doing combat training with Pibb until they nearly collapsed. Summer opened the door and let Holloway into her room.

“Nothing to wear?” Holloway asked, pointing to the half removed combat gear that Summer had over her shoulders. Holloway plopped down on Summer’s bed and opened her sack.

“How'd you guess?” Summer asked sarcastically. She wasn’t in a particularly good mood. Holloway gestured for Summer to sit down next to her.

“Come here. Maybe I have something for you," she creaked. Her long fingers rustled through the bag until resting on some hidden object.

“There it is. I knew it was in here somewhere," Holloway drew out a long, beautiful dress. Summer was taken aback.

“Wow. Pretty," she said, a little remorseful that she had misjudged the once raisin-like woman. Holloway held the dress up to Summer, looking her over.

“That's perfect," she warbled to Summer happily. She deftly folded the dress up and held it out to Summer.

“Are you sure?” Summer asked, reaching out to take the gift. Holloway waved her question away.

“Oh, yeah. It's just one of many purchased for dates that never happened. Turned out to be lonely nights reading my comic books. In between the crying fits," Summer was stunned. She knew Holloway was a weirdo and a nerd, but she never really related to her. Maybe she had shut off her emotions for a reason. Summer smiled and let Holloway continue her story.

“It all started with my prom. I always thought the prom queen should be the girl with the highest I.Q.” Summer nodded along.

“Now that would make sense," she said. Holloway smiled with her wide mouth, then the two laughed. After a few minutes of chatting and banter, Summer held up a finger. Holloway cocked her head. Summer took the dress into the bathroom, and, a few minutes later, emerged wearing it and holding her combat armor. Holloway grinned.

“Finally, a woman without a lab coat," she joked. Summer laughed. Holloway reached into one of the floating strands of dress and removed a flask.

“We got a party now," Summer said, grinning. Holloway poured the two of them drinks and bantered some more. Once they were significantly hammered, Holloway raised a shaky finger matter-of-factly.

“You know, I like having you here. Don't get me wrong,” she slurred, “But I'm not sure Cindy can handle the competition."

Summer took a few seconds to get the joke.  _ It must have been about Dylan,  _ she thought.

“This is really nice of you," Summer said, putting a hand on Holloway’s shoulder.

“Well, they worked hard. They deserve this," Holloway said. Summer was confused again. Her eyes drifted to the floor. Then she noticed the long, fleshy tendrils reaching down and around Holloway’s legs. Holloway went for the neck. Summer tried to scream, to yell for help, to do anything, but she couldn’t. She moved in slow motion, and Holloway seemed faster than a bullet. Summer’s eyes went wide.


	32. Scene 32: “10-Mile Run”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan has an interesting and confusing night.

It was nearly 11 when the door to Dylan’s cell opened. Summer stood in the doorway wearing a dress that was, although a bit ripped, quite beautiful.

“Look at Summer," said a voice over the intercom.

“Hi," Dylan said. Summer leaned on the door frame.

“Hey," she said.

“So, where are you going dressed like that?” Dylan asked, standing up and leaning casually against the wall. Summer’s face twitched and her eyebrows furrowed.

“Why? Do I look stupid?" she yelled. Dylan put his hands up defensively. Summer hadn’t moved.

“No, you look nice," he said, putting his hands down. Summer shook her head.

“Hi," she said. It was like she reset. Dylan was a little worried. He drew out a gold chain that he had stolen from R&D and held it in one hand behind his back.

“Hey," he said, looking at the locket that hung around Summer’s neck.

“You like it?" she asked, noticing his gaze.

“Yeah. You look beautiful," he replied. 

“I thought your necklace looked a little bare, so,” he revealed the necklace from behind his back, “I made this for you in R and D,"

He slipped the necklace over her cat ears and moved her hair up and out of the necklace’s way.

“For everything I see in you, and everything I don't," he stepped back and admired his handiwork. Summer smiled bashfully.

“I think your powers are wonderful," she said, taking a step forward.

“I'm not that wonderful," Dylan laughed humbly.

“I mean, I just hope you're not disappointed with what you do or don't see from here," Summer said, taking a step towards Dylan.

“As long as I get to keep looking, I guarantee you I'II never be disappointed," he said, taking a step back.

“Do you want to dance?" he asked, confused as to why she kept walking towards him. He remembered that she liked dancing, and so he guessed that that must be what she was trying to do.

“Yes," she said. She quickly stepped forward and put her hand on Dylan’s shoulder. She took his other hand in hers and began to sway. Dylan kept about two body spaces between him and the neko girl. She reached up with one hand and began to pull off strips of newspaper delicately from his face.

“Do you mind if we take these off?” she crooned, “Because you are so… blind,"

“Whoa. Let me put these back on," Dylan said, pulling away from her and replacing his paper mache. She looked a little hurt.

“No, it's okay," he said. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“You'll just have to move a little closer. Still can't see you," Summer said stepping back closer to Dylan. Her face began to twitch and grin. Suddenly, something attracted her attention from the hall.

“What the hey is going on here? This room is off-limits," said a guard from outside. Summer slunk back to the entrance.

“Hey. Come on, Your Highness, calm down. You're going to have a stroke," she said to the guard. Something odd caught Dylan’s eye. One of Summer’s feet seemed to be misshapen. He walked towards her, looking at her feet.

“Look. Have a drink," she said, offering the guard some scotch in a flask. Dylan drew closer to Summer. Her foot seemed to extend off down the hall, less like a foot and more like a tentacle. Tim Allen burst in between the guard and Summer.

“The kids are just having fun. The kids want to have a little fun? I like to have fun. Kids, let's take a 10-mile run," he grabbed Summer and Dylan by the hands and hurried them down the hall. More guards and Holloway stood a little further down the hall. Tim Allen and his group stopped in front of them. Dylan looked at Summer’s foot again. It seemed to go straight to Holloway, slipping up her lab coat and out of sight. 

“Guards. Holloway," said Tim Allen, trying to get past the cluster of guards.

“Make sure it happens now. Move out," he said, trying desperately to get past Holloway and the security force. Dylan looked down. It looked like there were more tentacles behind them, but he couldn’t really see past them that well.

“Boy, for a straight guy, you're dramatic," Holloway said, looking at Tim Allen’s grinning face. Why are there so many gay jokes?

“What's all this stuff?" he said kicking at Summer’s tentacle leg.

“What are you doing?” growled Holloway.

“Something I should have done long ago," Tim Allen said, trying to get past the group again.

“You're going to hurt these kids," Holloway said, smiling oddly.

“Like you hurt my team," Tim Allen replied, grinning wider. The two stood glaring at each other, waiting for the other to make a move. Suddenly, Tim Allen slapped Dylan on the back.

“To meet my standards, whatever it takes. We'll be starting first thing in the morning," he said, quickly ushering Dylan into his cell. The door shut before he could see what else happened, but Dylan caught a glimpse of long, fleshy tendrils snaking around outside before the door closed fully and his room was left in darkness.


	33. Scene 33: Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Allen finally becomes a good teacher.

The door opened again. Tim Allen looked in on Dylan.

“Let's get cracking," he said. Dylan drearily walked with Tim Allen to the other kids rooms. He was carrying two pots, one in each hand, and was fiddling with their handles as they entered Summer’s room. Tim Allen began to bang the pots together loudly, running around the room, screaming “Hey, guys. Everybody. Get up. Come on. Get up. Come on, gorgeous. Hop up."

He cracked Summer over the skull with one of the pots, whooping and hollering. Then he ran across the hall into Collins’ room.

“Sleeping's for wimps. Get up. Come on,” screamed Tim Allen, “Come on. Come on. Come on, come on."

Conley forced Collins’ body up and out of bed. Tim Allen giggled and clapped his hands.

“There you go. Everybody. Come on. Get up. Hurry, before the guards see us."

The group stood sullenly, none of them quite human, but all still tired.

“Good, good, good. Figured you guys would be getting tired of sleeping,"

Tim Allen knew that he had forgotten someone, there was at least one person that was still a human in the group besides himself. Dylan was there, but was also a being made of paper mache. Collins may have some small grasp of her consciousness still clinging to that decaying body of hers, but Tim Allen doubted that it could break free of Kerreen Conley’s iron willpower. Summer was, at the very least, no longer being controlled by a human. Her vacant, wide eyes drifted aimlessly around the room, never focused, always moving. She scared Tim Allen. Lard-Butt! That’s who was left! Tim Allen bustled the small group over to Lard-Butt’s room.

“Come on. Tucker, come on, buddy, get up," Tim Allen said, prancing about, hands waving and gesticulating wildly. He pointed an accusatory finger at Conley, who’s host body certainly had enough strength to carry the boy out of bed.

“Roll that big potato out of bed. Hit your light. There you go, come on. Get up, get up," Tim Allen crowed. He directed Conley to lift Lard-Butt up to face him. Lard-Butt’s eyes flickered. Tim Allen grinned in his face.

“What's the matter with you?" he screamed, “What time did you go to bed last night? How tired can you guys...?”

Lard-Butt passed out in Conley’s arms. Tim Allen sighed and put a hand on his forehead.

“AII right. Somebody brush his teeth, get him in his outfit. Let's go. Come on!"

Nobody moved. They may not have been human, but they still understood privacy. Or, at least, Dylan and Conley understood privacy. Summer likely was only a shell of her former self, either from something Holloway did, or from Tim Allen’s frying pan, or a combination of the two. And Collins, well, Tim Allen could say with almost one hundred percent certainty that Collins was no longer in her corpse and, if she was, she most certainly wasn’t paying attention. Tim Allen scowled at the kids.

“I said let's go!"

He clapped his hands and winked at Dylan, who mumbled a few racial slurs under his breath and picked up Lard-Butt’s feet.

“AII right, all right," he groaned. Tim Allen hurried the group down the halls and through winding passageways until nobody knew exactly where they were. Tim Allen had, once the group had picked up the pace, moved to the front of the little troupe. Summer held up the back, to make sure that nobody tripped on the strange tentacle that was wrapped around her leg, trailing off down the seemingly infinite hallways. An enormous figure emerged from around a corner. Holloway, in an oddly shaped pink and white dress, had expanded in size so much that, although she maintained her spherical shape, she was now a head taller than Tim Allen. Tim Allen stopped.

“What are you dressed as, Super-Poodle?” Tim Allen snarked. Holloway gurgled with delight. Or pain. You could never tell with Holloway.

“What is that? Where are we going?" she blubbered through thin, floppy lips. Tim Allen brushed past the monolithic entity that was Holloway. She trailed behind the group for some time, before ducking into a bathroom. The group stopped just ahead of where Holloway had ducked out. The lights were dim and flickered ceaselessly. On the wall was a breaker panel who's lock was broken.

“Oh, neat. An electrical panel," Dylan said, unenthusiastically

“It's a secret electrical panel," corrected Lard-Butt, sarcasm dripping from his voice like glue.

“Quiet," Tim Allen hissed.

“Come on. I'm tired. Let's go back to bed," Conley's voice echoed from somewhere within her host corpse.

“I'm hungry," Lard-Butt complained.

“I'm cold," Summer whispered. Her eyes seemed to clear for a second before glazing over again, her vacant expression broken by pain for only a moment. Perhaps she was still in there, fighting. Or maybe it was her last gasp before being taken over.

“Stop whining. Superheroes don't whine," Tim Allen bellowed. The group looked at Tim Allen in stunned silence. Conley was the first to break the silence.

“Where are we?" she creaked. There were no signs this deep into the facility. The last one that the team had seen was for the washroom, and that didn’t really explain much about where they were. Tim Allen smiled grimly.

“We are someplace,” he slammed his fist into the breaker and a camera nearby stopped in its rotation, “where the cameras won't see us."

Dylan snatched a piece of paper out of Tim Allen’s back pocket.

“Whoa, what is this?" he asked. Tim Allen grabbed the paper out of Dylan’s wet newspaper hands.

“Are we getting our names?” Dylan slapped his wet thighs and jumped around like a prospector. The group erupted into cheers, with the exception of Summer, who screamed and screamed.

“Finally, we get our names," Lard-Butt moaned sensually.

“Wait,” Conley said, frowning her corpse face, “I thought you said names don't matter."

“AII right, all right. I was mistaken. You want names? You got to have names," Tim Allen said. He unwrinkled the paper and held it like a scroll.

“Chubby will now be called ‘The Incredible Bulk.’” Everyone laughed, besides Lard-Butt. Even Summer laughed, or maybe she was sobbing. It had become difficult to tell with her.

“Oh, dude. That's stupid," Lard-Butt was disappointed with his name. He grabbed the paper and ate it before Tim Allen could read the rest of the names. Tim Allen’s fists tightened. He’d have to come up with names on the spot.

“You, the bully,” he pointed an accusatory finger at Conley, “let's call you ‘Strong Girl.’”

“I want something pretty," she spat.

“That is pretty."

“No, it's not," Conley angrily cartwheeled away down the hall, never to return to this section of the facility again.

“Yes, it is pretty," Tim Allen said, a little hurt by Conley’s mean words. A single tear rolled down his cheek. He snapped himself out of it and continued coming up with names.

“And for you, let's go with ‘Mental Chick,’” he said to the Summer, who drooled a little, her spit slightly orange with blood.

“Mental Chick?” Dylan said, looking quizzically at Tim Allen.

“I like that," Lard-Butt said.

“That is not funny," Dylan shot back, planting a finger square in Lard-Butt’s flabby chest.

“Yes, it is," Tim Allen giggled. Tucker laughed and draped himself over Summer’s shoulder.

“I think it's good, 'cause you're…” he poked her big ol’ skull. Summer’s head jerked over to face him. Lard-Butt pulled back, raising his hands defensively.

“I like it," he shrugged and stepped away. Tim Allen wrote the word “invisiteen” on a piece of paper and handed it to Dylan. He scowled.

“That's terrible. You're not calling me that," Dylan threw the paper onto the ground and stomped on it. Lard-Butt leaned over and read the paper. He slapped Dylan and Summer on their backs and laughed.

“Yeah, Mental Chick and Invisiteen," he chuckled. Now that Tim Allen actually heard the name he wrote said, he changed his mind.

“Whoa. No, that is terrible," he said, laughing a little. Dylan had had enough of Tim Allen’s naming nonsense.

“Come on," he moved the group over and away from Tim Allen and his bad ideas.

“You're,” he thought for a moment, “Mega-Boy."

“Mega-Boy?” Lard-Butt repeated, pondering his new name. He preferred “Jupiter the Gas Giant”, but “Mega-Boy” would do fine. He liked the hyphen in the middle anyway.

“What do you call me?” Dylan asked. Lard-Butt, or rather Mega-Boy, thought for a moment.

“Houdini," he said after a pause. Tim Allen poked his head into the circle.

“Houdini?" he didn’t approve of this circle, or what it stood for: independence and disrespect.

“You know? He's always escaping stuff," Mega-Boy explained. Dylan grinned and shot finger guns at Mega-Boy. A screech echoed somewhere down the hall. The group poked their head around the corner, catching a glimpse of pink cloth and decaying flesh.

“Princess," said Mega-Boy.

“Princess," agreed Dylan. The group pulled back behind the wall. They didn’t know that that would be the last time that they ever saw Conley. They would see Cindy soon enough, however.

“And she's,” Dylan tapped his foot thoughtfully, “Wonder."

“Thanks," Summer crooned. Her voice sounded like it had last night: odd. Tim Allen leaned against the wall and glowered.

“AII right, I give up. You guys want to name yourselves, you've named yourselves," he grumbled, flipping the kids the bird and twisting his face so that it looked almost comically angry.

“Houdini. Princess. Wonder. Mega-Boy. Now we're a team," Dylan said, group hugging Lard-Butt and Summer.

“Now we're a family," Holloway croaked menacingly from the bathroom. Tim Allen clapped his hands and forcefully joined the group hug.

“And this family is getting out of here. I'm taking you someplace safe tonight," he said before turning to walk back to the less creepy part of the facility. Lard-Butt stepped forward.

“But we're heroes now,” he protested, “and we have names and everything."

Tim Allen turned back and looked at him. He put one hand on Lard-Butt’s shoulder and looked him dead in the eye.

“I know you do. You have names, you're heroes, but I think it'd be safer if we just got out of here. Take the FE-12, we can use that and…”

Dylan collapsed. Tim Allen stopped explaining his anarchist worldview to Lard-Butt and rushed to Dylan’s side.

“What's the matter, Dylan?” Lard-Butt said, as he didn’t know about Dylan’s new ability.

“I'm in a hallway," Dylan said. Tim Allen listened intently.

“Stay out of the Ladies' room," screamed Summer and Holloway in unison.

“Okay, now, I'm in a control room," Dylan continued.

“What do you see?” Lard-Butt was really confused now. Tim Allen was really interested in Dylan’s weird hallucinations. He had probably just smoked nutmeg a couple hours before.

“I see Dr. Grant and Larraby."

“Tell me they're wearing women's dresses," Tim Allen said. Gay joke number three my dudes.

“There's frozen images on a screen," then he gasped. Tim Allen slapped Dylan and he sat up.

“I know what they're training us for," Dylan said.

“What?” Tim Allen shook Dylan.

“Your brother. He's alive. He's coming back," Tim Allen was a little disappointed. He already know that.

“That's impossible," Holloway yelled from the bathroom. Tim Allen stood, helping Dylan to his feet. He jogged down the hallways towards some unknown destination. As they ascended from the depths of the facility, the group began to notice a significant change in the decor. Along the floor were long fleshy tendrils, some emerging from vents, some from down hallways, some even emerging from holes in the walls themselves. Tim Allen stopped short of a door labeled “control center 5”.  He held up his hand, stopping the children from going further.

“Stay out of sight," he whispered. He cracked open the door silently.

 

Cindy forced her way through Conley’s mind, reclaiming her lost body as she swept through the rotting brain. If it hadn’t been for that random holy water spill on the floor, Conley would have had a chance, but it was too late for that. The mayor of Belleville, Michigan, struggled for a moment, and then let go. Cindy could feel her body’s decay, her stiff joints, her over stressed muscles, her torn and rotting skin. But that mayor was gone, and only she remained. Dylan was standing down the hall a few feet away, so she walked over to him to see what was going on.


	34. Scene 34: Now It’s On You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Allen confronts Larraby about his plan to use children against his brother.

Dick was frantic. He gathered his papers and dropped them into a file box. Grant was in an adjacent room working out the last kinks in an energy weapon. General Larraby stood, arms folded, dildo on the table, glaring at Dick doing his frantic work. The past few hours had given none of them sleep, and Larraby was feeling it. He was far more irritable and stern than usual, and he was usually very stern and very irritable. Dick wiped his forehead with his hands, then wiped his hands on his lab coat. He poured over a constant stream of information on a console at the back of the room, the only light source in the entire control center. Blue light silhouetted Dick's head, a glowing halo around the eyepatch wearing technician. Michael Anthony sat in the corner, watching.

“General Larraby, it is only a matter of moments before Concussion will be here," he said, still gathering papers and writing down data from the console.

“At 8:59 p.m., the portal broke through the final dimension," Dick looked over at Larraby. Then he noticed that the door was open. He just kind of stood there, his mouth moving, mouthing words for a couple seconds.

“Wow. Just when I was beginning to like you," Tim Allen leaned nonchalantly on the door frame, pretending to smoke a cigarette.

“‘It's all for the kids, helping them cope, bring out what's best in them,’” Tim Allen said, mimicking Larraby's stern voice. He reached up and flicked Larraby's nose. Larraby glared at Tim Allen.

“What are you talking about?” Larraby asked bluntly.

“Stop the innocent routine, okay?” Tim Allen said, a little pissed of at being treated like a child. 

“What? Tim Allen," Larraby stepped forward. Grant burst through the door, brandishing the modified netgun wildly. Kendra Rose Montagna was wheeled out behind him. Her face had regained its color, and she was a bit more lively. She knew something was going down, but she didn't know what.

“That's when we deploy the sonic net," Grant yelled, showing off his new invention to his boyfriend. Then his eyes fell on a smug Tim Allen.

“What the hell's going on?” Grant had been in a good mood. They had a good shot against Concussion, but Tim Allen's smug face was an omen of a wrench in their plans. Holloway piled her oddly shaped body into the room, crowding everyone more. She rested her chin on Tim Allen's head.

“Right now, my stomach flesh is burning. Tim Allen?" she chattered. Tim Allen ignored her.

“Tim Allen, can you talk to me?" she groaned into his ear.

“Not now, Holloway," Tim Allen said, not letting his annoyance show. Kendra Rose Montagna craned her neck to look at a screen on the console. A mugshot of a glowing face stared back at her. Her brother. Larraby was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic.

“Guards, get her out of here," he commanded. Anthony stood and brought Kendra Rose Montagna back into the room where Grant had been working.

“My brother is alive? Why didn't you tell me?" she screamed as she was pulled back into the room. The door slammed shut. Holloway tugged at Tim Allen's shirt.

“Well, you know... Is that a flock of birds? or my car alarm? Hold on a minute," Tim Allen was done with Holloway and her antics. She was probably pissed that they hadn't told her about Connor. Tim Allen sighed.

“We didn't tell you about Connor because you didn't need to know," he explained. Holloway just smiled, her teeth white and gleaming in the blue glow of computer monitors. She already knew about Concussion. Larraby grunted menacingly.

“They're going to be heroes, Tim Allen, and heroes always do the right thing," Larraby said. Tim Allen grimaced.

“You're going to send these kids up against Concussion? They'll never have a chance," Tim Allen said, gritting his teeth. He tightened his fists.

“Not the way you've trained them," squeaked Holloway. Tim Allen's decked her. Grant gasped. Dick almost dropped a load… of papers that he was carrying. Larraby shot a glance at Anthony, who had just walked back into the room.

“Guards, take this bozo away," Larraby ordered. Anthony stood still. Tim Allen grinned. Anthony wouldn't be taking Tim Allen out of the room. He wouldn't be taking orders from Larraby anymore. Or Grant for that matter. Or Holloway, although he would never have taken orders from her anyway. Larraby turned to Anthony, who smirked. A timer on a monitor went off, signaling that Concussion's vortex would open in an hour. Anthony opened his mouth. Larraby realized just too late what he was about to say.

“One hour and…” Anthony paused dramatically, “counting.”

All hell broke loose.


	35. Scene 35: Escape 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Allen attempts to escape the facility.

Tim Allen dashed out of the room. There were only three kids in the hall, but Tim Allen didn't care. He grabbed onto Dylan's and Cindy's hands, dragging them down the hallway. Lard-Butt ran behind them. As they ran, jumping over the tentacles that ran along the ground, Tim Allen thought of an escape route. The spaceship? Too slow. A truck? Maybe, but they would be guarded. The isolation guards could help, considering that Michael Anthony was on their side now, but there was no guarantee. He stopped running. Alarms were going off, but there was no Code Dylan over the PA system. Tim Allen looked desperately around for an exit. There was a hanger entrance, but that would be swarming with soldiers. There was a vent, but it wouldn't fit Lard-Butt's round ass. Eh. Tim Allen never liked Lard-Butt anyway. The three crawled into the vent, leaving the obese boy to try to fit in behind them.

“I'm way too big for this. You can't... Guys…” they were already gone. Lard-Butt dragged himself back out of the vent. He was alone. The only sound was the wailing alarms. The tentacles on the ground sat, heavy and unappetizing, but Lard-Butt was hungry.

 

“You know, they're just a bunch of kids. You can't do this," Anthony said. Grant lunged at him anyway. Holloway and Tim Allen had scuttled out of the room and in different directions down the hall. Larraby ducked into the side room that contained Kendra Rose Montagna. Dick crowded to the back of the room in fear of Grant's rage. Grant swung at Anthony with his icepick, blue light from the monitors glinting off the blade. The sharp metal instrument grazed Anthony’s shoulder as he dodged to the side. His hand went instinctively to the wound, covering the scratch. Grant swung again, this time missing entirely. Anthony grabbed a computer from a desk and slammed it into Grant’s head. Grant stumbled back, glasses broken, blood running from his nose and onto his lab coat. Anthony ran forward into Grant, tackling him towards the wall. He grappled with Grant’s head, bringing his neck down against the hard edge of a table. Grant fell to the ground, gasping and clutching at his throat. Anthony placed his foot on top of Grant’s neck, slowly increasing pressure. Grant struggled weakly, gripping at Anthony’s leg, his face pale with fear. Anthony drew his leg up and stomped down hard onto the scientist’s neck. Grant seized, his legs kicking out, his hands clawing at the guard’s foot on his neck. After a moment, however, he lay still. The scientist lay prone, blood from his nose and face pooling under him. Anthony turned and looked at Dick, who stood with Grant's dropped icepick in the corner. Dick ran at Anthony, but was decked before he could even swing the icepick. Anthony dragged the thrashing Dick across the room and, taking Dick's head in his hands, aimed his good eye at the corner and cracked his skull against a metal table. Dick fell limp, blood pouring from his eye socket. Anthony stood and walked to the door of the adjacent room. He creaked open the door, half expecting Larraby to brain him with the butt of a gun. But no impact came. Anthony opened the door wide. A huge hole had been blasted through the wall by Kendra Rose Montagna when Anthony had set her free, and Larraby must have gone after her. Anthony turned and walked over to the PA system.

 

Dylan looked down the last turn in the vent system. No guards.

“Five, seven, and nine clear. It's a go," he called back. Tim Allen wriggled to face him.

“We're clear over here," Tim Allen replied. A squeak from somewhere down a shaft made them both jump. Tim Allen and Dylan wriggled down the tight corners towards Cindy. She lay with her wrinkled face against the vent covering, staring down at something.

“What'd you see?” Tim Allen crowded next to her.

“They're prepping the Gamma-13. Miss Holloway will stop them, won't she?” Cindy creaked. She didn't know if her corpse-like body could be irradiated that much.

“I don't know, Cindy. I don't know," Tim Allen admitted. The metal vent underneath them let loose a thin groan and gave way, sending the comedian, the corpse, and the paper mache doll rolling out in front of Larraby, who sat beside his prized Gamma-13 machine. Larraby wordlessly removed the handgun from his jacket and leveled it at Tim Allen's head. Tim Allen turned to Dylan and Cindy.

“Well, I'm… I'm afraid it's time,” he said, smiling sadly, “I'm so sorry about this. Truly."

Dylan set his jaw. Larraby motioned for him to stand up next to the metal backboard of the Gamma-13 machine.

“It's okay,” Dylan looked back at Tim Allen. He had no eyes, but they would have looked sad.

“We're used to being used," he said. Tim Allen grimaced.

“I know there's nothing I can do to make this up to you, except possibly…” Tim Allen's last words were drowned out by a new alarm over the PA system. Michael Anthony was giving the order to evacuate the building.


	36. Scene 36: Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The word for someone who likes vore is a vorarephile. You learn something new every day.

Summer sped down the halls of the building, snatching up soldiers and ramming them down her throat as she passed. I say Summer, but what I really mean is her body being used like a hand puppet for Holloway. Her skin had become a little more grey and raisin-like after Holloway had vored and assimilated her, and her eyes were a little unfocused, but overall she looked at least more like her former self than Cindy looked like a living human person at this point. Her slow process of becoming like Holloway was only now beginning to show physically, which was a shame, since Holloway's acting had improved dramatically since voring Summer. If you ignored the tentacles and sagging skin, you could only barely tell that anything was wrong with the neko girl. Her legs didn't move as she flew through the hallways; instead, the tentacle connecting her to Holloway slithered and snaked through the halls for her. Usually anime girl and tentacles are reserved for the more hot and heavy animations, but I thought that it would be good to give tentacles some more variety. She turned a sharp corner and nearly bowled through five soldiers. Her arm shot out, extending with new bones and flesh feeding in from the tentacle under her. She caught one soldier and ripped him through his comrade into a wall. Her arm, now long and sinewy, shuddered and split down the center, exposing sharp bone skewers. Two down, three to go. A skewer blasted through the body armor of one of the soldiers, dragging him to the ground and back to Summer. Another end of Summer's arm rippled and swiped at a second soldier's ankle. Summer lunged forward, pinning the remaining two soldiers to the wall with her tentacles. One of the soldier’s skulls cracked against the metal wall so hard that it almost fell off. Of the five soldiers she had met, now only one was alive. She would leave him for last. Her arm retracted back, bone spikes sinking into her flesh, leaving no mark on her skin. Her jaw unhinged and gaped, revealing rows of teeth leading down her throat. She gulped down the bodies of four soldiers and was about to start on the fifth when movement caught her eye.

“Tucker," she gurgled, blood dripping out of the corners of her mouth, which regained shape almost as soon as Summer had noticed the boy beside her. Lard-Butt would be a tough fight, but a rewarding one. His speed was almost a match for Cindy, his hunger paralleling her own. Summer readied her tendrils. Then she stopped. Though it's power was diminished, Summer's empathic abilities could still be used by her host, and she sensed no fear in Lard-Butt. Either he knew something that she didn't (impossible) or Lard-Butt wasn't here to fight.

“That was awesome," he said, no irony in his voice. Just awe. Her speedy cannibalism must have impressed the boy. It would be better for Summer to play it safe and keep her powers somewhat hidden before taking Lard-Butt. She quickly disemboweled the soldier and tossed him to Lard-Butt. Might as well let him have it, after all, she was going to get it back in a few minutes. When he had finished the soldier, Lard-Butt stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Come on, let's go," Summer said, turning down a hall. Lard-Butt followed dutifully. Coming up to a corner, Summer stopped abruptly. Lard-Butt nearly tripped over her tentacles. A totally blind, woozy, and barely alive Dick stumbled down the hall. Summer slithered out from her place around the corner. Dick's hands were clasped firmly over the bloody hole that had once been his eye. Summer coughed loudly. Dick spun around to face Summer, his face contorted in pain and anger.

“Can I help you, Miss Jones?" he said sarcastically. Summer didn't respond. Instead, she easily lifted Dick off the ground and unhinged her jaw. Dick's hands gripped at the thick, steel cord muscles of Summer's arms, revealing the hideous remnants of an eye that he had been hiding.

“Put me down, Miss Jones," he screamed, but Summer paid him no mind. She gulped down the technician quick and clean, licking the bloody handprints that Dick had left on her arms. Lard-Butt grinned at Summer, his face almost too gleeful. He couldn't abide by his position on the team being threatened by Tim Allen, but Summer was a cute anime cat girl, and there really wasn't a team anymore, so it was fine that he had found another vorarephile.

“Man, that is so hot," he said. Summer grinned. If he thought that is was hot, she could exploit it.

“You think so?" she said modestly. Lard-Butt clambered over the tentacles that now covered the ground to look down her throat. He reached down inside her gaping maw, admiring her rows of teeth and flexible neck.

“Hey, not bad. Nice work," he said, after trying to pluck out a tooth.

“Thanks," Summer replied, thought it was barely understandable, as she had someone rooting through her mouth at the moment. Lard-Butt pulled himself out of Summer's mouth, looking into her eyes. He considered his options. Summer was confused. He was aroused, that she could tell. She didn't even need her empathic ability for that. There was something else too, a deep thought and consideration. After thinking for a moment, Lard-Butt reached a conclusion.

“Hasta luego, man," he said, and crawled headfirst into Summer's still open mouth. Whether he had thought that he could survive assimilation or that he thought vore irl was the best way to die, Summer didn't know, or care. She didn't have to fight Lard-Butt, and that was that.

 

Everything was chaos. Concussion was going to show up any minute, the soldiers were all either evacuating or trying to attack the isolation guards, the kids and Tim Allen were nowhere to be found, Larraby was missing, Holloway was eating people, and Kendra Rose Montagna was destroying any vehicle that tried to leave the premises. Michael Anthony wiped sweat from his forehead, slicking back his hair and taking a deep breath. He was the most handsome and well liked person on the planet, but nothing had been the same since his wife and mother and father and daughter had died in that car/plane crash many years ago. His soldiers crowded around his shoulders, looking down at the screen before him. Tim Allen was somewhere in the building, undoubtedly with the surviving kids. After his unexplained yet inevitable switch to the good guy team, Anthony had only one goal: get everyone in the facility out alive, besides Grant because Grant was obviously evil and also dead. He had divided up his remaining forces to find Tim Allen and the kids and rescue them. The screen in front of him was lit up with a map of the facility, with noted life signs marked with red dots. There were two groups left, waiting for areas of Area 52 to search. The commander of one of the group's tapped a group of five red dots on the screen.

“I'II check this one," he said, saluting and leading his team off to rescue what he thought was children. Anthony looked down at the screen. He only had one more group left. One of them better be right. A lieutenant leaned over Anthony's shoulder, pointing at a group of red dots near the center of the facility. 

“I think he's…” before he could finish his thought, the clump swirled and shifted into one mass, indicating that whoever had been there had been eaten by Holloway or one of her tentacles. Anthony slammed his fist down on the screen, which nearly broke under the force of his manly pounding.

“Where is he?" he yelled. He pulled away from the screen, letting his lieutenant try to find the children. After a few moments, the lieutenant walked over cautiously to where Anthony stood, taking deep breaths to calm himself. Anthony reluctantly stepped back towards the screen.

“I think he's over here," he suggested, pointing to a potential group of red dots. Anthony dismissed the idea offhandedly. He had thought enough about it. He planted his finger in the radiation sector of the facility, focusing in on a group of four.

“No. No. He's right here," he turned, grabbed a rifle from the ground, and walked out into the hallway.

 

The machine hadn't worked, thank god. Larraby had stepped out of the room, locking the door from the outside, leaving Dylan still strapped into the machine. He had been muttering something about Grant's incompetence and missing parts, although Tim Allen hadn't really been paying attention. He had been really interested in his hands for most of the setup process. Cindy had been sedated and lay sprawled on the ground in a corner of the room. A knock on the door startled Tim Allen out of his stupor. Lard-Butt's caveman face pressed against the locked door’s window. He looked a little pale, but smug nonetheless.

“Hey. Somebody call for a rescue party with extra cheese?" he said. Tim Allen scrambled to the door.

“Hey, it's about time. Open the door," Dylan called from the machine. For a few seconds there was silence. Tim Allen looked through the window. Lard-Butt seemed to be talking to himself on the other side of the door. Him doing anything that wasn't opening this door was unacceptable. It was Tim Allen's turn to knock on the door. Lard-Butt looked blankly at Tim Allen through the window, saying nothing. Tim Allen scowled.

“You want to do the honors?" he said, stepping away from the door, sarcastically ushering Lard-Butt to break down the door. Almost instantly, the door flew off its hinges, flying across the room and slamming into the Gamma-13 machine. Tim Allen stumbled back from the doorway, narrowly dodging the huge metal projectile. Lard-Butt stood in the doorway as tentacles slowly felt their way into the room. Tim Allen laughed nervously. Now that the machine was broken, Tim Allen could safely remove Dylan from it without accidentally setting it off or blowing them all to hell. As he worked Tim Allen found himself berating Lard-Butt, despite the fact that he had saved them.

“Hey, maybe something like, ‘Stand back. We're going to break the door down’ could have been tossed out," he said, although the words were not his own. He had tapped into, however slightly, that snarky energy that had once powered his abilities. Perhaps, in time, he could, harness the sarcasm power and regain his abilities, but for now he simply spewed forth vitriol towards Lard-Butt.

“You know there's a little green button to the left that says, ‘Open’?" he shook himself out of it and turned to Dylan, who still hung, suspended, in the machine.

“You all right?" he asked, helping the doll down from the machine.

“Yeah," Dylan replied, rubbing his sore wrists. He looked up at the door and something caught his eye.

“Wait. Why is she here?" he asked. Tim Allen turned around. Whether he just hadn't noticed her before, or she had silently slid there while his back was turned, Holloway towered behind Lard-Butt, her now huge face grinning wide and ever so hungry. Lard-Butt himself had advanced several paces into the room and now stood in the center, arms clasped in front of him, like a politician watching a speech. Tim Allen grabbed a metal bar and took a step towards Holloway, but Lard-Butt held up a finger.

“No, it's cool. She's one of us," he said, smiling politely at the comedian. Tim Allen looked at Lard-Butt, puzzled.

“What do you mean, she's one of us?” Tim Allen asked.

“She blows," was the reply. 

“Yeah," said Tim Allen, jokingly.

“No, I mean she blows. Come on. Show him," Lard-Butt stepped aside to make way for Holloway to display her so called “blowing” powers. She lumbered into the room, her arms long and thin, seeming to be barely strong enough to pull the weight of her massive, tumor-like body. She breathed in deeply then coughed and hacked a greenish yellow gas out onto a nearby tentacle. As the gas made contact with flesh, the meat of the tentacle bubbled and fizzed as it was burnt away. Before it could do much damage, however, Holloway gleefully sucked the dangerous gas back into her mouth, which, presumably, was able to store such a gas without being, for lack of a better word, burnt. Tim Allen edged along the wall and picked up, with some difficulty, Cindy's corpse.

“So… So you've got powers?” Tim Allen said, hoisting the dead thing onto his shoulder. Holloway smiled and gurgled happily to herself, glad to tell her story.

“Remember I was kind of a weird child?" she said, a dreamy look on her face, “That's why I came here.”

Tim Allen pushed past her into the hallway, dragging Dylan and Cindy with him. Dylan seemed to be happy for Holloway, and not terrified of her large, bulbous, fleshy new body.

“Why didn't you say something? This is, like, great news," he said, as Tim Allen dragged him down the hall. 

“You're like part of the family," Dylan continued. Tim Allen sighed and smacked him upside the head for indulging her.

“Dudes. Escape, remember?” Tim Allen grumbled.

“Right,” Dylan agreed, “Let's go."

Holloway watched the comedian pull the two down the hall, but didn't go after them. Now was not the right time. If Tim Allen would only regain his powers, then the time would be at hand, but for now she could only wait and pick off stragglers. It is said that good things come to those who wait, and Holloway had waited for a very, very long time.


	37. Scene 37: Cat and Mouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team is safe, though down a few members. Dylan investigates something odd.

When they were found, at last, Michael Anthony could begin the evacuation of the facility. He had nearly been knocked over when he met Tim Allen and the two surviving kids in the halls. Evidently, Holloway had been right behind them, and Lard-Butt had been with them, but there was no trace of Lard-Butt, nor of Holloway besides the tentacles that lay on the ground, and those were just about everywhere in the facility at this point. But that was then. Anthony stood on top of a wooden box in the center of the hanger, directing and dictating and ordering faster than he had ever done in his life.

“I want this done as fast and efficiently as possible. Highest levels," he said to his lieutenant before dismissing him to his duties. 

“Yes, sir," was the reply. The isolation guards were finishing loading boxes full of important technology and information into the saucer before it took off for Area 51, where it would be held until Area 52 was secured or, if need be, rebuilt. Skinbo stood at the foot of the box, leaning on a massive broadsword that he had recovered from some depths of the facility. Tim Allen, the three remaining kids, and Mr. Pibb, the product placement training dummy, sat in a corner of the hanger, waiting for something interesting to happen. And then something did happen. There was an explosion near the main hangar door, and then gunshots. 

“What's that? What's happening?” Anthony called down to a guard. Some soldiers, most likely under the command of Larraby, whether directly or indirectly, must have mounted an attack. Tim Allen stared intently down towards the fighting with a bored disinterest and tiredness that you will often find during marathons of Home Improvement. Dylan, on the other hand, was looking at something else. At the opposite corner of the hanger, a slinky shape waved toward him. Taking a quick look to make sure that nobody was watching him, Dylan slunk away from the group toward the girl across the hanger. Dylan didn't totally trust that Anthony wouldn't immediately take over Larraby's position and blast the team with Gamma-13 until their skin melted off their bones. When he got there, however, he found no cute anime neko girl, but a door with boxes stacked in front of it. It looked like it lead back into the facility. Dylan stepped towards it.

“Dylan. Open it up," said a voice on the other side of the door. Dylan, with some effort, unblocked the door and swung it open. Crouched in the middle of the hallway was Summer, her hair down over her face so that Dylan could only see her eyes glimmering in the fluorescent hall lights. Behind him, in the hanger, Dylan could hear the chatter of some of the guards get closer. He quickly closed the door and sat down behind it, beckoning Summer towards him.

“What are you doing?" she asked, but Dylan put a finger to his lips. Or, rather, where his lips would have been if he had had a face.

“I'm saving the day. That's what I do," he replied in a hushed whisper. The chatter got closer and closer, up to the door. Dylan looked up at the door handle, as it slowly turned.

“Summer, get us out of here," he whispered, his voice harsh with stress. To his relief, the door did not open, and the handle snapped back into place. Dylan peeked through the door window out into the hanger. A man, most likely a technician, was scolding guards for their placement of the boxes around the door.

“This is all wrong. This goes there and that, there," he said. Dylan dropped back down behind the door. Summer had crawled into an air vent that had been damaged in some fight that must have happened in the hall before Dylan had gotten there.

“Hey, Dylan, get inside," she whispered harshly through her hair. Dylan peeked back through the window towards the guards in the hangar, then back to where he had been sitting with Tim Allen. Tim Allen had noticed that Dylan had snuck off, and was looking around for him. Maybe Tim Allen did care about him. Under his rough, toolman-like guise, he was human, just like anybody. That or a really convincing psychopath. One of the two. Dylan opened the door to the hangar slightly.

“Get inside. Shut the hangar doors," hissed Summer. A flood of noise from the hanger blasted through the open door as she said it, however, and her voice was drowned out.

“Shut the hangar doors," she hissed again, louder this time. She crawled out for the vent, tentacle trailing behind her, and stepped towards the door. In a quick motion, she eased the door shut and slid up beside Dylan, draping her arms around him.

“Oh, boy, Summer," Dylan said, voice cracking. If he had had cheeks, he would have been beet red. Summer toyed with a loose piece of paper mache on Dylan’s shoulder, drawing herself closer to him as she did so.

“We're hot to go?” she asked. Dylan opened his mouth to answer, but Summer put her finger over where his mouth would logically be.

“Yes," she said for him, drawing her head towards his, mouth opening behind the veil of long brown hair.

“What about Tim Allen?” Dylan blurted out, pulling away from the neko girl a little.

“T-minus 10 minutes," said a voice over the intercom. With Summer a little distracted, Dylan slipped away from her grip and towards the door.

“You got to drop me off here and take the kids someplace safe," Dylan said, putting a hand on the door handle. His mind was going a mile a minute, and what he was saying was complete bs. Only a jumbled mess of what he had meant to say. Did he even mean to say kids? He didn’t know, or really care. Summer seemed to grow in size, her whole frame shaking with rage.

“We're not leaving you," said a multitude of voices from behind the veil of hair. Dylan was scared now. Something was wrong with Summer. Whatever it was wasn’t getting any better, either. He decided to play along for just a little longer.

“Well, then, wait here. At least do that. Wait for me," he said. Then he turned and slipped quickly back into the hangar.

 

Tim Allen was headed for the predicted arrival point of Concussion. Once he had made sure that Dylan was still in the hanger, he had begun his trek back into the facility. The portal was supposed to open in the training room, so that’s where he was headed. Or where he had been headed, when he saw Kendra Rose Montagna.


	38. Scene 38: Tim Allen’s Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Allen wants to see his brother who he sent away all those years ago.

Kendra Rose Montagna stood in the center of the hallway, her ethereal body rippled and coursed with energy. Behind her, the training room was bathed in a brilliant display of color. Kendra Rose Montagna glared at Tim Allen only for a moment, then turned back towards the huge interdimensional portal that had opened up inside the base. Kendra Rose Montagna was mad. She didn’t know what this was, but she was sure it must be some trick by Larraby. From out of the portal, a boy, about seventeen, floated slowly. His eyes were focused straight ahead, taking no heed of the others in the room. His hair was long, hanging down to his shoulders, and his torn yellow jumpsuit fluttered in the wind that the portal whipped up. Once his body had been fully pulled out of the portal, it snapped shut, and the boy dropped to the ground, which still had rubble covering it since from Kendra Rose Montagna’s entrance many scenes ago. Tim Allen ran towards his brother, but Kendra Rose Montagna turned and blocked him. She seemed to be larger than normal, almost twice Tim Allen’s height.

“Let me talk to my brother," Tim Allen growled. Kendra Rose Montagna said nothing, her huge bright eyes staring down at the indignant comedian. Tim Allen tried to rush past her, but she picked him up deftly and placed him down onto a piece of rubble next Mr. Pibb, the training dummy.

“This is between him and me," she said, her voice loud and commanding and coming from everywhere at once.

“But we're family," Tim Allen knew that she would kill his brother, he had no doubt about that.

“Believe me. I know what I'm doing," Kendra Rose Montagna replied coolly. Then she turned to face the boy who stood in the rubble.

“I know what I'm doing," she said again, to herself this time, “Yeah. What am I doing?”

Tim Allen yelped. Kendra Rose Montagna looked back over her semi transparent shoulder at him. He was roleplaying with Mr. Pibb, hanging droopily from the dummy’s shoulders.

“Mr. Pibb, Tim Allen's out there all alone," he said, mimicking Dylan, “He needs our help!"

Kendra Rose Montagna knew that Tim Allen wouldn’t stop his childish moping until she let him have what he wanted, like a spoiled child. She thought for a moment. If Tim Allen was this boy’s brother, maybe Larraby hadn’t sent him after all. Either way, Tim Allen could keep this kid busy while she found Larraby, and then it wouldn’t matter whether he was Tim Allen’s brother or Grant’s twentieth boy lover.

“Will you distract Concussion?" she said. Tim Allen grinned, but said nothing.

“Please?” Kendra Rose Montagna said, her voice exasperated. Tim Allen smiled and slid down towards his brother. Kendra Rose Montagna walked off through the walls of the facility. The boy was looking away from Tim Allen, puzzling over the somewhat damaged paintball machine on the far wall. Tim Allen coughed.

“Connor," he said. The boy turned around to face him.

“My God, it is you," he said, grinning wide. Tim Allen smiled. A real smile. Not a sarcastic grin.

“Connor, it's me, Tim Allen. It's Tim Allen. Nobody wants to fight you. I just want to talk," Tim Allen said. He was so happy that he almost forgot his sarcasm. Almost.

“Wow,” Connor said, “You got old, little brother."

“Yeah," Tim Allen said, his sarcasm coming back a little, “Well, I guess I didn't have the advantage of living large in some dimensional rift where I don't age…”

Connor stopped smiling. His eyes narrowed.

“Living large? Try alone. Conscious only of being betrayed by you in that living hell," he growled. Tim Allen looked hurt.

“Betrayed? You took out the whole team," he said, stepping closer to his brother. Connor lowered his voice.

“You shouldn't have tried to stop me, Tim Allenie," he said quietly. Tim Allen grimaced, partly from being called Tim Allenie, but also from pain, as he had stepped on an upturned nail in the rubble.

“Tim Allenie? What did Mom tell you about calling me Tim Allenie?” Tim Allen said. Connor just smiled and laughed a little. Tim Allen wasn’t the same as when he had left. The two stood silently for a moment. With a huge cracking sound, Tim Allen found himself rocketed back into a wall. Concussion stretched his arms. He hadn't used his powers in so long.

“That was good," he said, rolling his shoulders. Tim Allen peeled himself out of the small crater that his body had made in the wall.

“Boy, that... That smarts," he said, grimacing from pain. His teeth were gritted and his back was bloody and sore, but the blast had been a weak one compared to what Connor was usually capable of.

“Well, you certainly haven't lost your touch, brother," Tim Allen said, limping back towards his brother. Connor frowned, his brother hadn’t dodged his blast.

“Have you lost your powers, Tim Allen?” Concussion asked, the corners of his mouth twisting up into a smile.

“Well…” Tim Allen barely dodged another blast from his brother. He stood, shakily.

“You've got to stop doing that," he said, his voice whining in that way that Connor hated so much. But Connor wasn’t irritated by the drawl of his brother, he was happy. Happy to be out. So happy, in fact, that he had forgotten why he hated his brother so much. He still hated Tim Allen, but the why and how had been long forgotten.

“You have lost your powers, Tim Allen," he said, laughing a little. He stepped closer to Tim Allen, readying another blast.

“Boy. Hey, are those new boots?" he said, hurling another wave at Tim Allen’s feet. Tim Allen barely avoided being knocked over by the blow, regaining his balance somewhat ungracefully.

“When you say lost my powers, I think if I really looked, I could find them," he said, talking more to himself than to his brother. Above them, looking down through the hole that Kendra Rose Montagna had created when she had busted through the roof so long ago, Larraby stood with a platoon of soldiers. He turned to his group and held up a hand.

“This is even better than I expected," he announced. He had Concussion right where he wanted him, and now he had Tim Allen too.

“Load up the sonic net and prepare to fire," he commanded two soldiers to the left. They hurriedly began to charge up a large machine covered in tubes and wires. Down in the training room, Concussion stepped closer to his brother. Tim Allen looked at Connor, and fear rocketed through his body for the first time in three decades.

“This is it, Tim Allen. I've waited 30 years for this," Connor grabbed Tim Allen by the neck and began to raise him up. Tim Allen felt his feet leave the ground. His hands gripped at the one at his neck. He coughed and sputtered, but there was no zenith team to help him this time. Or so he thought. As his vision began to go dark, a crash of metal and plastic and rubble from behind Connor woke him, however slightly, from his oncoming unconsciousness.

“Pibb," said a prerecorded voice. Connor dropped the almost dead comedian and looked behind him. The old test dummy, his plastic face down in the dirt, gurgled his name one more time from the speaker around his neck.

“Pibb? Wow. They must have really dragged you out of the mothballs, huh?” Connor stooped and rolled the test dummy over, looking at the plastic face and smiling nostalgically. He looked up a pile of rubble to see where Pibb had been thrown from. On top of the pile was, silhouetted by a spotlight, what looked like a 6-year-old in pigtails.


	39. Scene 39: Enter Holloway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim Allen gets got

Connor stepped into a fighting stance and turned to Tim Allen, who held up his hands defensively.

“Steady," said Tim Allen, stepping back away from Connor. Connor only looked back up at what he thought was a little girl.

“Well, hope you got an army behind you. Or a tiny girl in pigtails. What is this, ‘Attack of the Preschoolers’?" he asked sarcastically. Tim Allen stepped back farther. Connor wasn’t interested in his cowardly brother now, though. He turned and began to walk towards the silhouette.

“These kids, they don't know what they're doing, Connor. This is between you and me," Tim Allen yelled wheezily. He had said it too late, however, and Cindy’s body propelled itself down the slope of rubble, landing gracefully at the bottom. From behind the rubble pile, Lard-Butt and Summer walked out. Connor looked disdainfully at the group. One of them looked like they were rotting, and they all had this deadeyed expression on their face.

“So this is the new team, huh?" he said, unimpressed. Tim Allen stumbled quickly between his brother and the corpse. He turned to the rotting girl and sighed.

“Cindy, go back," he said, exasperated. Cindy just stared at him with lifeless, unblinking eyes. Connor laughed.

“You just run up to the big bad guy all willy-nilly now? Is that how it goes?” Connor grinned and charged up a huge blast. Somewhere above them, a hearty laugh echoed.

“Fire," yelled Larraby, and a large net blasted down towards the group below.

“Cindy, run," Tim Allen called, but it was too late. The corpse was hit hard by the net, which stuck her to the ground. Tim Allen rushed forward. From the training room entrance, Dylan and Skinbo appeared, yelling at Tim Allen.

“No, no! Timallen!” Dylan screamed, but Tim Allen had already wrapped his arms lovingly around the corpse.

“Cindy, are you okay? Cindy, you're safe now. You're okay. It's me. It's Tim Allen," Cindy didn’t respond. Her grey flesh rippled and distorted, like a bedsheet with rats under it. Her arms began to spasm, flailing jerkily under the sonic net.

“Please, Cindy, don't do this to me. You're all right. Come on, Princess," Tim Allen moaned. Cindy stopped spasming, cocked her head, and rose up into the air, held aloft by a huge fleshy tentacle.

“Princess?” she gurgled, “That's me."

 

After Tim Allen had left to confront Connor, Dylan didn’t have much to do. Cindy was out cold, or at least her corpse body was not currently inhabited by a 51-year-old mayor of a small town in Michigan. Either way, Dylan didn’t have anyone to talk to. Skinbo was busy, Michael Anthony was doing his job, and Tim Allen was confronting a demon from his past. He didn’t want to talk to Summer, who was being creepier than usual, and Lard-Butt was lost somewhere in the facility. That was he was thinking when huge tentacles of flesh burst through the door where he had met Summer. The largest of the tentacles was covered in faces, each one with their mouths open wide, snapping at isolation guards as they passed. Dylan scrambled to his feet and made a dash for the large hanger entrance, but was stopped by Skinbo. He had his broadsword drawn and his thin facial features were tight in a grimace. Dylan thought for a moment that Skinbo was going to cut him in half, but the blow never came. Skinbo nodded his head in the direction of the path that Tim Allen had taken into the facility. The two of them ran madly for the exit, but Dylan snuck a look back at the carnage. A huge fleshy mass was pulsating on the far end of the room, squeezing itself out of the facility door. Holloway’s huge grin slid across the mass fluidly, followed by a collection of other faces, including Lard-Butt and Summer. Their faces looked like they had melted a bit, although Lard-Butt was somewhat fresh. Michael Anthony still stood in the center of the room, directing his guards where to fire. Dylan looked over to the corner where he had been sitting. A tentacle slithered over and picked up Cindy’s limp corpse and dragged it back to Holloway, where a mouth in her side opened and Cindy Collins was swallowed whole. Then Skinbo shut the door and the two were off into the facility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the best chapter.


	40. Scene 40: Michael Sue Part Two of Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael Anthony gets AIDS and dies.

Michael Anthony gets AIDS and dies.

 

 

Scene 40.5: Note 3: Reviewing the other Zoom (2006) fanfictions

 

_ Don’t worry, I wouldn’t leave you with so little :) . If you have read this far (and Owen, you better have), then you must have picked up some interest in either Zoom or Fanfiction in general. So, logically, it would make sense for me to make reference to the other Zoom fanfictions that are out there. I read them all (I didn’t). It was difficult, but I did it (wrong). I also reviewed them all (this, I did do). If you see text like *this*, then it is a comment, an afterthought to the original review. (I’d like to clarify that I don’t want any hard feelings sent to these writers. As much as I complain, I brought this upon myself. I wasn’t forced to read these. Leave them be, do not disturb them, I find it too funny to let be ruined.) Let’s begin: _

 

_ Connor Knew by shadowglove88 _

 

_ good job on this. some of the sentences run a little long, some of the character motivations are confusing, and the whole miscommunication between Conner and Dylan is a little cliche, but those are just nitpicks. Your dialogue flows well, and your expansion of Conners character works well with the original story. Most of your issues come from ties to the original source material. I'd be excited to read an original story from you. Now, I'm not sure if this was intentional, but was there a tie in with the homophobic jokes in the movie? I may be wrong, but Tim Allen's homophobic jokes could be explained by Conner being gay. was that you Shadowglove? If so, that's dank m8. _

_  
_ _ 8/10 I didn't think that I'd like gay zoom smut _

  
  


_ Cherry and Atticus’s Adventures of Zoom by PerkyGoth14 _

__  
_ I was excited to read this. I was drawn to the big ol' GRAPHIC VIOLENCE tag that you had slapped on. So I sat through 20,000 words of absolute garbage, waiting and hoping and praying that, in the final chapter, someone would get beat up. What did I get? NOT THAT! My goal with these comments was to give helpful tips to writers, but I told myself that I would not give you tips if there was no graphic violence. Emphasis on "graphic", by the way. I didn't read 10 chapters of badly written bs to have nobody die. So, instead of telling you how to improve, you'll just have to read between the lines as I scold you like a dog that shat on the rug. Good Lord, your writing is god awful. At several points I wanted to actually flip a table and break something. You constantly use the words soon, seemed, and where at random points and it makes no sense. *eg. He soon blew out the back of his head. No, f#ckwit, he didn't. He immediately blew out the back of his head. This made me so god damn mad.* You never describe what's happening, almost the entire thing is dialogue and smirking. Come to think of it, a graphic depiction of violence probably happened, but you didn't describe it well. I did some research on you and realized that you've been writing for five years. I went back and read your first fanfic, the one about bees. To my surprise, it seems like you regressed in writing ability since 2013. By the way, that's how you use the word seem, not how you used it. I'd be more forgiving of the bad writing, but I was really cut up about Cherry not getting punished for this atrocity. The only violence here was against me. _ __  
__  
_ 1/10 You made gay smut look like Shakespeare *I didn't mean to diss the gay smut. It was legitimately good.* _ __  
  


_ *So, I kind of felt bad about being a dick, and the obvious self-insert character mentioned having depression or something like that, so I wrote this. I still mock them mercilessly though, so idk. It's barely comprehensible, I think my point was that they shouldn't be discouraged by weirdos who read zoom fanfictions? No clue, honestly.* _ _  
_ _ Congratulations. You made it to the end of the review. I can say a lot about you, but your perseverance is unrivaled. In all seriousness, your writing needs improvement and probably proofreading too, but that's not the goal, is it? You didn't write this for me, or for the fifty people who read your fanfiction, or even for the one kudos you got. That's my guess, anyway. You are writing this for yourself, if you weren't, you would have stopped after the first year. I don't think one mean comment will break you, either, especially since you made it all the way through it. You used to write well, disregarding grammar errors, but you don't now, and I'm sad. This addendum is so that I can keep my promise to myself: my review would not contain constructive criticism. To be honest, though, this isn't the worst that you will get, or even have gotten, I would guess. I want you to know that, as long as you don't break AOOO terms and services, nobody can stop you from writing but you, keep that in mind. People will say mean things, and maybe they'll be right sometimes, but giving up is the lazy way out. I said what I said because five years is a long time, and I doubt that I can end it with one comment. And, by the way, no matter how good you get at writing, you will always find people who just try and tear you down. Don't pay attention to me, I'm just some faceless asshole on the internet. There are lots of me, and aren't always wrong, but we can't do much if you don't react. _

_ *And then they deleted my comment. Huh.* _

  
  


_ I never imagined that you'd be here too. by Dreamweaver127 _

__  
_ Why is all the gay smut I read not that bad? You've got a good flow for dialogue. I think you need to proofread your stuff though. Additionally, try to keep your tense straight, I noticed an issue with that in the first chapter. Your descriptions are alright, but focus on being clear. It's too short for me to really get into your worldbuilding, but from what I've seen, you've got it pretty good. Character introductions could be a little more naturally integrated into the story. With practice, you could be a pretty good writer. Anakin is a little op in my opinion btw. Overall, it was alright. _ __  
_  
_ __ 6/10 not the best gay Zoom smut I've read

_ *So this was my mistake. This story has no explicit smut in it, I think I was a little trigger happy with that word. You'll see that in a lot of my reviews. Anyway, I actually talked to some of the authors, and I'll be talking about the interviews in a later note, so stay tuned.* _

  
  


_ Connor Sait by Metherland _

 

_ *It's the French version of Conner Knew, so I didn't leave a review* _

 

_ *French/10 it's French* _

  
  


_ The Zenith Team Plus One: Blaze's Story by Reader1718 _

__  
_ This is not a fan fiction. It is a fan plot summary. I was really hoping for at least one good Zoom fanfic that wasn't gay. Now, don't be discouraged, it was bad, save for one bit. *monk, you cock, “wasn't”. It WASN'T bad. God, what is wrong with you. Did you at least edit the comment? Lord.* It just wasn't good either. It was (for the most part) just a recap of the movie with an additional character. In future writing, try to really flesh out scenes, write in more dialogue, make it detailed. Now maybe plot recaps are your thing, I don't know and I don't really care enough to do the research. Only one thing in here made me mad and it wasn't your writing. Before we continue, I'll give my rating from before I read the New York section. _ __  
__  
_ 3/10 it's literally a plot recap, but it didn't hurt _ __  
__  
_ Then they met the Jets. I'll be honest, it took me a second to realize that Tony was the one from West Side Story, even once the Jets had been mentioned. I'd say it's because I'm dumb as rocks, but then there would be no funny review, would there? *I can say it now, though. I'm dumb as rocks.* The reason I didn't catch on quickly was because I forgot his name was Tony because this is a plot summary, but that isn't why I'm mad. I'm mad at one little detail near the end. "and Tony became the Jets’ secret weapon against Bernardo," I'm mad. I think this person missed the point of West Side Story entirely. The musical is actually important to me (unlike zoom, which I hate). It's too brief to be sure, but I think that Reader is under the impression that the Jets are good and the Sharks are evil. The whole point of the musical is that nothing is black and white, and both sides are torn apart by hate. Nobody is evil, and that's the tragedy. I can see why you would think that the Jets are the good guys, they are far more developed than the Sharks as a gang, but that isn't the point. _ __  
_  
_ __ 0/10 don't do my boy west side story like that

  
  


_ No Capes by Sparrowsverse _

__  
_ I've made it my goal to read all Zoom (2006) fanfictions on this website before I publish my own. I've only got four left to read, and this is one. I'm not going to lie, I don't want to read this. I've done a search for the names of the main characters of zoom, and I couldn't find anything. From the one comment, it seems like a good fan fiction, but I think reading all this zoom stuff is starting to affect me mentally. So, I have one question for you: is there any zoom in here? Is there enough for me to read? Is this just inspired by zoom? Until you get back to me, I have to give you a low rating for the zoom in your fan fiction. _ __  
_  
_ __ 0/10 questionable amounts of zoom :/

_ *I still haven't read this, but I think that it's just about the Jonas brothers. And also maybe Selena Gomez, but I can't remember.* _

  
  


_ I Would Normally Do This Kind Of Thing by misura _

__  
_ God damnit. Why are all the gay ones the best? Can't I get a break with just one that isn't gay? To be fair, this is good in a different way than the rest. This one is funny as shit, and I'm so glad. I'm the kind of guy that thinks gachimuchi is hilarious, so this is actually right up my alley in terms of humor. There are no moments where someone jacks off for a paragraph, so this is a great change of pace. Honestly made me laugh. Some of the transitions were odd, and I think it needs more fleshing out, but I legitimately loved this one. _ __  
_  
_ __ 9/10 never wanted todie during this

_ *I want todie now, though. God, monk, are you dyslexic or just incompetent?* _

  
  


_ Telekinesis Lesson by flareonfury _

__  
_ This is the first good Zoom fanfic that I have read that wasn't gay. Congratulations. That being said, it was ok. It was almost too short, if that's possible. It was a good scene, don't get me wrong, but I feel like it was leading up to something. If that something was the Summer and Zoom pairing, gross dude, I know that she looks 25 but she's supposed to be 16 or something. Not much else to say about this one. _ __  
_  
_ __ 7/10 ...eh

_ *I think my rating went down on this one. It just wasn’t very interesting. Maybe it was really deserving of a 7, but I’m feeling a 6 or a 5 for it :/* _

  
  


_ Five for All by sparrowshellcat _

__  
_ God, why do you keep giving me good writing with gay smut mixed in? *in this sentence, i’m literally talking to God, btw. Idk if that was clear.* This is absolutely fantastic. The way the characters change through the story is well done. I haven't seen zoom or sky high, but the way the characters were introduced was so well written that it didn't matter. I really enjoyed reading most of it. But it's really gay. Not necessarily a bad thing, mind you, but I was just disappointed. It's like dropping candy on the ground and eating it anyway. I know, it wasn't written for me, but I can be disappointed, it's my right. If you ever write something that isn't halla gay, hmu. It was, over all, absolute brilliance. I loved your writing style. Plus, it did something that I didn't think any Zoom fanfic could do: made me want to watch the movie. Good on you for that. _ __  
_  
_ __ 10/10 I'm not gay, but I'll metaphorically suck your dick

 

_ So, what did I learn from all this? One, you could drown in the amount of gay stuff on this website. Two, some of these writers are incredibly talented, just because they write fanfics doesn’t mean that they suck horse dick. Three, monk needs to learn the difference between smut and shipping, or he will hang himself. Four, straight fanfic authors need to step their game up, because I might just go back to reading real books if they don’t. Five, I think i have a bit of a problem with my self image, but that doesn’t really relate too much with this project. _

 

_ Well, we are at chapter 41, Owen. I hope you enjoyed the ride. Happy birthday again, even though it’s June and I’m writing this in January and your birthday is in April. _

  
  


_ At the time of writing (February 26th), I have almost completed the book. I was checking back to make sure that, if any of my reviews were noticed, I could get a statement from the author. Last time I had checked, there were ten fanfics on the website, including mine. When I saw that there were eleven, I nearly threw up. The book was already longer than mine, and it had only been started this month! It took me almost three months to make half of that. A friend of mine looked over it, and they said that the writing was quite good. At least I wouldn’t get another Cherry and Attic or whatever it was called… _

 

_ I can’t wait… _

 

_ Rainbow Connection by runningwithshadows _

 

_ This looked really good. Did I read it? A bit. Did I finish it? Nope, not even close. It delves deep into the backstories of characters that are, in my mind, just the worst. The fanfic is very well written, but I still hate Zoom, so even my love of good literature can’t save me. Will I try to read more of the authors work? Yes. Good job, please write something other than this. _

 

_ Long/10  _

 

_ There is also another fanfic, which was posted a little before mine. I didn’t read it, because it’s long, and also a gay love story about Connor and Dylan, and I’ve already read three of those. Too bad, Noxelemental, three is my limit. Should have posted the fanfic in 2018. _

  
  


_ I decided not to include any interviews with authors. There were too few to make interesting, and most of the questions I asked are just in the comments of the other fanfics if anyone wants to read them. _


	41. Scene 41: Larraby’s Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larraby's plan is garbage, and gets a lot of people killed.

Holloway’s huge face towered over Tim Allen, tendrils whipping and grey skin stretching and contracting. Around her huge body were hundreds of faces, melted and distorted, shifting and murmuring, all seeming to slide across her skin with a strange, grotesque grace. A huge tentacle rose above the rest, hanging in the air for only a moment, before crashing down towards Tim Allen in a sweeping motion. Before he could think, Tim Allen was up on his feet, sarcastic comments streaming from his mouth. To Skinbo and Dylan, it looked like he had teleported to the top of a pile of rubble before the tendril slammed into the ground. Tim Allen’s face curled into a grin, smarmy power coursing behind his eyes. Connor took a step back. He had expected his brother to have been at least a little weakened by age.

“Mr. Tim Allen, you moved so fast,” Holloway boomed. Tim Allen smiled humbly.

“Yes, I did," he cocked his head towards the huge mass of flesh.

“I knew it,” came a cry from the roof, “I knew you hadn't lost your powers.”

Tim Allen looked up towards Larraby, smiling.

“Guess I just needed a reason to use them,” he said. Another tentacle swiped at him, but he dodged in the blink of an eye again. Lard-Butt, his back fused tight to one of Holloway’s appendages, crashed to the ground in front of the newly rejuvenated comedian.

“Tim Allen, I'm sorry. You were right, man. We weren't ready,” his words spewed out quickly, his face fighting against Holloway’s control. Tim Allen, his emotions finally fully back inside him, smiled sadly. There must be a way for him to separate Holloway from the people she vored.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on. You read the comic books. Superhero secret, first plan never works,” he whispered, then shot off into the facility, snatching Dylan and Skinbo into his arms as he ran. Hopefully that would give Lard-Butt enough hope to hold on.

 

Larraby pulled back from the edge of the hole that they were watching from. Conner blasted himself up and landed gracefully on the roof of the facility. In his hand, he held the net that had been fired at him. He looked at the general. Larraby had aged, his head was bald now, and yet that disapproving look hadn’t changed one bit.

“Is that it? Is that all you got?” he said, tossing the net back down into the training room. Larraby stood in front of the squad as they fumbled with equipment. The technicians were frantically looking for something, but Larraby didn't notice, and if he did, he didn't care.

“Not by a long shot, sonny-boy,” he replied, and turned to the machine that the technicians were huddled around. He pushed between two to get at the control panel.

“Stand back,” he said, pushing away an exasperated tech.

“No, no, no,” said the tech under his breath, trying to get at the machine. Larraby pulled the pistol that he kept in his pocket out and pointed it at the tech.

“Everybody, get back. Load up the second net and prepare to fire,” he commanded two other technicians at gunpoint. They shifted nervously under the barrel of the weapon. Connor smirked and watched with interest.

“That's a fantastic idea, sir,” one of the technicians mumbled, “I wish we had a second net.”

Larraby's eyes widened, and he slammed his fist into the machine in anger.

“Why, you fumbling, bumbling bozo,” he said, cursing Grant under his breath. Where was that idiot scientist anyway?

 

Tim Allen carried Dylan and Skinbo quickly through the hallways of the now dilapidated facility. Somewhere behind them, Holloway slithered through the halls, propelled along the tentacles that ran through the entirety of the facility like a monorail train made of flesh. Holloway was fast, but Tim Allen was faster. After a minute of running through the dark, slimy facility, Tim Allen finally stopped in front of a large metal door. He dropped the two behind him and bent down to open it. Skinbo peeked underneath the door, and caught glimpses of yellow matte metal. Tim Allen rolled the door up and revealed the bright yellow power suit. He jumped up into the mount and strapped himself into the machine. Although it was old, it reacted well to Tim Allen's speedy movements. The suit was incredibly flexible because of the way that it's plating was layered like fish scales. Tim Allen, now somewhat taller that Dylan and Skinbo, looked down at them and smiled.

“Okay, all right. You guys wait right here. I'll be back in a second, give or take,” he said, winking. Before Dylan could protest, Tim Allen ripped down the hallway and was out of sight. Tim Allen hadn't felt so alive since he had had his powers.

“Just like riding a bike,” he said, noticing that his skill was just about the same, even in his old age.

 

The bodies of Larraby's crew lay strewn across the roof, missing limbs and blood covering every inch of the concrete area. The sonic net gun had been smashed beyond recognition, but it still acted as a good cover. Connor looked around the battlefield.

“Is that it? Is there anyone else who can face me?” he asked, smiling widely. Larraby stood up from behind the machine, blood ebbing from a wound in his side, pistol gripped by white knuckles. He grimaced against the pain, he had felt worse with Grant. Or, at least, that was what he told himself.

“I'm still standing here, you little twerp,” he growled. The last living tech in Area 52 tapped the general on his leg.

“Sir, I wouldn't do that,” he whispered harshly, but the general paid no attention. He was listening to something else, a noise coming from the training room.

“What's that sound?” he asked, and Connor turned. From the hole, a yellow blur flew up into the air, arcing high over Connor, and landed gracefully a few paces from him.

“Hey, it's…” the technician was cut off.

“Tim Allenie,” Connor said, his smile widening even more.

“Actually,” replied the man in the suit, “it's Timallen.”

Larraby was almost too impressed to be angry with Tim Allen for not activating his powers sooner.

“Suit looks good,” he called, and Tim Allen nodded.

“Nice suit, lizard-boy,” Connor said, putting his hands on his sides and smiling at the comedian in the yellow suit. Tim Allen's mind was going a mile a minute. Could he convince his brother not to fight? Would he have to try another vortex? Connor broke his train of thought.

“Let's play ball,” he said, and leapt high into the air. The comedian jumped and matched him, catching him in mid air and slamming him into the ground. Connor blasted his adversary off of him, and Tim Allen landed some feet away. Tim Allen stood, his suit having taken most of the damage. Connor was a little less fortunate. He propelled himself off the ground with a blast and readied himself for more fighting, but he was bleeding and limping. He charged up a bombardment of energy and ran towards Tim Allen, releasing the explosion into his brother’s stomach and sending him flying. Tim Allen skidded across the ground, yellow scales flaking off his armor. It was Tim Allen’s turn to stand shakily now. Connor charged up another blast, and Tim Allen readied himself for another rush. Tim Allen stepped first, faked left, and bounded into the air. Connor fell for the fake and sent a wave of energy at where Tim Allen had been a moment before. He noticed too late and tried to avoid his brother, but the speed of sarcasm is simply too fast. Connor slammed into the ground, his arm breaking his fall and shattering as it made contact with the concrete roof. Connor lay for a moment, then groaned and rolled over. Tim Allen stood over him, his suit stained red and missing pieces all over.

“Timallen. Hey,” he said.

“Hey, Connor, you kind of suck at this, don't you, dude?” Tim Allen responded. Connor smiled and stood, one arm hanging limp at his side. Tim Allen stepped toward his brother, expecting that the fight was over. Instead, Connor blasted him once more and turned back towards the hole in the facility. Before Tim Allen could stand back up, Connor was gone.

 

Tim Allen slid down a pile of rubble and stopped in the doorway to the training room one last time. He wouldn’t be here again. Larraby was looking for Grant somewhere in the facility, Connor was escaping, Dylan was with Skinbo near the armory, and Holloway was god knows where. Tim Allen decided to head to the armory to pick up the two, then see if Kendra Rose Montagna would take them out of the facility. Once they were safe, he could deal with his brother, Larraby, and Holloway without worrying about them. Tim Allen ran through the facility at his top speed, and nearly fell into a huge crater in the middle of the facility. A huge, purple vortex was hissing and crackling with energy sat in the air above the enormous crater. An extremely fast wind roared past the hole in the hallway, whipped up into a terrible fervor by the portal in the center. Every few seconds, a chunk of the facility would go flying into it at an insane speed. Tim Allen looked at the vortex for a moment, trying to understand what it was. It must have been something Connor created. It didn’t seem like it had swallowed the armoury, so Dylan and Skinbo were probably still alive. From across the crater, a huge explosion shot debris off into the air. Holloway’s huge flesh body burst from the facility and clambered along the side of the crater, huge sharp spider like legs made of bone gripping the ground tightly. It seemed like she was chasing something, and Tim Allen squinted at the tiny shape that shot around beneath the abomination. Connor propelled himself across the crater, trying to find a loose bit of ground that he could use to trip up Holloway. He hurled another blast to his left and shot up the wall of the crater, narrowly avoiding the huge bone legs of the psychologist. Connor looked up at the facility as he flew through the air, charging another blast to send him barreling towards the portal in the center of the crater. Before he released the blast, however, something caught his eye. As he skimmed carefully across the wall of the crater, his eyes caught his brothers, looking back at him from a hallway in the facility. He shot his blast late, and wobbled dangerously, skirting the edge of his careful orbit around the vortex. Tim Allen gasped. His brother flailed in the air for a moment, desperately shooting himself towards the portal. Tim Allen put his hands over his eyes.

“Oh, no. He's going to miss,” he said under his breath. Connor barely managed to steady his course around the vortex, and Holloway snapped at his heels with her huge tentacles. Tim Allen was so enamoured with the scene before him that he didn’t hear Kendra Rose Montagna approach behind him. Then again, it’s not like she makes any sounds while walking, since she just hovers an inch off the ground. She put a hand on his shoulder.

“Timallen,” she said loudly so as to be heard over the wind. Tim Allen whipped around, but when he saw that it was her, he smiled. Kendra Rose Montagna was confused. Tim Allen was an asshole, wasn’t he? Kendra Rose Montagna disregarded the thought and began to advance towards the portal and his brother. Tim Allen maintained eye contact.

“We have a chance to save him,” he yelled. He couldn’t lose his brother a second time. It was his fault before, and this was his only chance to make it right. Kendra Rose Montagna, however, had a different plan. That vortex must be patched by something powerful, like someone with powers, or an ethereal being, otherwise it could destroy the world. Something had to close the portal, and that something would probably be Connor. She didn’t want to tell him to push his brother into the vortex, but she couldn’t see any better alternatives. She finally decided on letting Tim Allen catch Connor and attacking Holloway on her own.

“You must close the vortex,” she told him, before turning quickly into the facility. Tim Allen looked after her, contemplating his next move. Behind him, the vortex roared and ripped at the facility. She was right, and a little bit of Tim Allen still resented that. Something had to plug that hole. Tim Allen turned back to where his brother was locked in mortal combat. He stepped out of the safety of the facility and into the maelstrom, speeding down the side of the huge crater towards his brother. Holloway, noticing the movement via a cluster of faces on a tentacle protruding from her right side, scrambled to a halt and brought down several tendrils to block the comedian from reaching his brother. Tim Allen, invigorated by his new abilities, dodged the attack deftly, slipping between tentacles and weaving down the wall of the crater. 

“Must save Connor,” he whispered under his breath as he ducked under one of Holloway’s appendages. Connor looked over his shoulder at the yellow streak that zigzagged skillfully across the devastation towards him. Connor blasted himself up and over the vortex to get a better vantage point while Holloway was distracted. Unfortunately, Holloway is never distracted. As he arked high above the destruction, a mass of flesh, blurred by speed, sailed up and intercepted him at his apex. The two hung in the air for a moment, like a pair of christmas tree ornaments that you throw out after having them up for one year because you know that they suck, but your grandma gave them to you and you have to put them up when she’s there, but you know that she will forget after a year anyways. Then, with a force that nearly tore him in two, the tentacle ripped Connor back down towards the ground. Tim Allen scrambled up the side of the crater, jumping from the edge and landing on Holloway’s back. He clung to her rough hide and scaled her like a mountain, gripping lumps and tentacles tightly. Connor crashed into Holloway’s flesh with a plop, and Tim Allen rushed towards him as he began to sink into her huge, dull grey body. He ran forward, gripping his brother’s arm and planting his feet, preparing to pull him out.

“No! Connor!” he screamed, trying to pull his brother from Holloway’s flesh. Although he tried his best to pull his brother from the meat, Connor sunk further into the monster. Bits of Holloway tried their best to get hold of Tim Allen as he pulled, but the power suit stopped them from finding his flesh. Tim Allen pulled harder, until Connor thought that he would pull his arm clean off. Then he stopped. Connor looked Tim Allen, his face contorted to hold back tears. Tim Allen pleaded with his brother to try and free himself from the huge woman.

“Connor, the vortex worked this time. Maybe you can use your powers for good,” he sputtered, but Connor only shook his head.

“I'm sorry, Tim Allen,” he said slowly, his breathing labored under the weight of so many bodies. Tears rolled down Tim Allen’s cheeks as he put his arms out to his brother.

“Give your little brother a hug. Come on,” he said, holding Connor’s shoulders as he sunk yet deeper. Tim Allen didn’t know what was going to happen next, and he didn’t really care. Connor craned his neck up to Tim Allen’s ear.

“Yeah. I got my brother back,” he whispered, his voice pained and raspy. Then he did something unexpected. Before he slipped down fully into the folds of fat and muscle that made up Holloway’s body, he summoned all the strength within him and channeled it into one last blast wave. Tim Allen flew up into the air, flipping over and over. After a few seconds, he hit the ground.


	42. Scene 42: Plan B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holloway digests consciousness.

Holloway could feel Connor give in. It felt good, like how vaccines always felt to her. She could feel him slip into her and disperse like a drop of dye in a still glass of water, spreading in a cloud out to the farthest reaches of her being. His added mass was good and strong.

“We did it. Now that's what I call teamwork,” she chuckled to herself. Her wide mouth grinned and her long tongue passed over her thin lips. 

“This is Connor,” replied a voice. How could there be a reply? Holloway shivered, clambering her massive form up onto the roof of the facility. Behind her, the vortex still raged. She looked around across her huge person for Connor’s face, twisting and contorting in her search.

“This is,” called another voice from somewhere else on her massive body. Holloway relaxed a little, letting out a long sigh and laying her huge body down onto the roof of the facility. She had expected something like this to happen, and she had been preparing for it. 

“Dylan! Come on!” called Summer’s voice. The many consciousnesses Holloway had consumed were making a resurgence, remembering old names and faces, and if she could hold them in her, she should be able to keep anything down.

“Welcome to the family, brother,” she gurgled happily, “This is Marsha.”

“Nice to meet you,” Summer replied.

“You, too,” Holloway gulped. All that talk about how the kids were like a family had really made it easy for her to convince the half conscious children not to rebel as their minds were digested inside her.

“Hi. What's your name?”

“Cindy. Cindy.”

“Hey. Summer.”

“I'm Tucker. How's it going?”

“Tucker, hi.”

The voices murmured among themselves for a few moments. Slowly, one by one, they were digested. After three minutes, all was quiet. There were no voices ebbing up from her bowels. There were no faces along her back and appendages. There was only Holloway.

 

Dylan finished hot-wiring the Jeep and nearly hit his head on the steering wheel. Skinbo stood, hand on the Jeep's door, watching Dylan as he rubbed the back of his head. Kendra Rose Montagna sat silently in the back seat. She hadn't said much since she had shown up, only directing Skinbo and Dylan to one of the few intact hangers. Dylan sat back in the Jeep’s front seat and turned so that he faced Skinbo and Kendra Rose Montagna.

“Somebody's going to have to drive on the way back. We've got the…” before he could finish, Skinbo pulled him aside.

“Can I? Can I drive?” he asked excitedly. Dylan shook his head.

“Can she drive?” he asked the gas station attendant. Skinbo frowned. He had been really excited to drive again, but it would have to wait for some other time.

“Yeah, she can drive,” Skinbo finally said dejectedly. Dylan patted him on the back and turned back to continue his little speech. When he turned, however, Kendra Rose Montagna was gone.

 

Tim Allen knew exactly what he needed to do. He sped down the halls at a steady pace, knowing that Holloway would be hot on his heels. Hopefully the remnants of the Zenith Team could handle her without him.

“We got the FE-12 running again,” he said to some image of Connor in his mind. Connor smiled within Tim Allen's head.

“Remember the old saucer from back then? Oh, yeah,” he said to his imagined brother. He stopped just short of the door to the hanger where the rest of the survivors had been. Cautiously, he opened the door and looked inside. The carnage that Holloway had brought down in here was terrifying. Blood stained the concrete and bullet holes riddled the walls. Tim Allen covered his mouth with his hands for a moment, realizing the full implications of what her attack had wrought. Everyone was dead. Tim Allen sank to his knees. Perhaps that hardness of his heart had a purpose. A day before this, he would have met the room filled with death with indifference, but not today. Today, it filled him with dread. The kind of dread that you know your world is falling apart and you can't stop it. Tim Allen knelt on the ground, his mind blank. A voice behind him nearly gave him a heart attack.

“Where is it? Out there? Oh, yeah,” Connor said, his voice isolated in the world. Tim Allen stood to face his brother. Connor was there, looking out towards the Area 52 tarmac with an odd, melancholy smile, towards the huge saucer which was still filled with dangerous artifacts and forbidden technology. Technology that had made his brother a monster. Technology that had created Holloway. Tim Allen remembered what he needed to do. He walked briskly and resolutely towards the ship. Dylan and Skinbo would have to defeat Holloway alone, once he was gone. He had faith in them. As he walked up the ramp leading into the ship, a voice behind him made him stop.

“Hold it, Timallen,” Kendra Rose Montagna said loudly. Tim Allen turned to face her. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with her. Besides, he was doing what she had wanted him to do, anyways.

“What?” He snapped. All that death had put him in a bad mood.

“What are you going to do now?” She asked him. He smiled slyly.

“You know us heroes. We always do the right thing,” he said, then closed the ramp and walked into the ship. Kendra Rose Montagna watched as the ship rose up into the air, hovered for a moment in the air above her, then shuddered into movement towards the center of the facility. Tim Allen stood, hand in the bucket, eyes locked on the pulsing purple whirlwind in the middle of the huge facility. All these arcane and dangerous artifacts would plug up an interdimensional wormhole perfectly. Connor sat against the wall, watching his brother, still smiling that strange, sad smile that Tim Allen's mind conjured up. Tim Allen gritted his teeth as the pull of the portal began to change the way the ship flew. With a terrible crunch, Tim Allen, a figment of his imagination, and several hundred billions of dollars worth of government secrets plugged up the first hole in time and space in decades. The resulting shockwave was felt in New York, although you could have missed it if you weren't paying attention.

 

Skinbo fired up the Jeep. Kendra Rose Montagna could handle herself on her own, but the gas station attendant and the doll were far more mortal. Whatever that huge explosion was, Skinbo and Dylan certainly weren't about to stick around and find out. Dylan looked back at the facility as Skinbo whipped down the runway towards the gate. Hopefully Kendra Rose Montagna wasn't hurt by that blast. She couldn't have been, right?

 

The blue light from the monitors glinted off Grant's lifeless body. Larraby knelt beside him, gripping at the scientist’s arms, his head against the scientist’s chest. He paid no attention when the entire building shook violently.

“Come on, Grant. We got work to do,” he whispered. He was desperately trying to believe that Grant was alive. Holloway slid silently into the room, her massive face illuminated by the blue glow of the screens. Larraby didn't turn.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,” he mumbled to his lover. Holloway was not impressed by his knowledge of fairy tales.

“It's Princess Rapunzel,” she corrected. Larraby still did not turn.

“Whatever,” he said in a low voice. Then he leaned over and kissed Grant gently on the forehead.

“Whoa,” said Holloway.

“My prince,” Larraby whispered, then stood and turned to face Holloway. He was not an evil man, though he had done evil things. Sometimes, what must be done must be done. But, here he was, everything that he had worked towards lying in a bloody pool on the ground. The evil that was to destroy the world was not a mistake from his lovers past, not the radiation that had nearly been used on children, not even a portal to another dimension. It was a wrinkled raisin of a woman in a green dress, who everyone had disregarded, cast aside, forgot, and ignored. Larraby's final evil was not the way he had planned to use children, or what he had done to Kendra Rose Montagna's brother. It was letting Holloway into his facility, under his nose, sitting next to her in a helicopter and not shooting her right then and there.

“That's my Princess,” he said. Holloway opened her mouth and a man who was not evil, but did evil things, was put to an end. There were only four people left on facility grounds.


	43. Scene 43: Final Effort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big ol' battle time. Dylan was spiders.

Kendra Rose Montagna watched as a massive mushroom cloud rose slowly from the center of the facility. The ground beneath her ethereal form shook, but she didn't feel it. The smoke and dust hung in the air like an enormous tree, dark on the horizon. From a hole in the facility, Kendra Rose Montagna spotted a large form emerging from the rubble. She lowered herself down from her place in the air, preparing for a fight. She would have to use all her energy to defeat Holloway, and even then, she wasn't sure if she could. If she didn't, Area 52 would be nuked to oblivion before anyone could escape. Then again, they may still nuke it even if Holloway went down. Even still, there was a chance that Dylan and Skinbo could be saved from death. Kendra Rose Montagna landed on the ground and began to advance on the huge figure. Holloway struggled to get the last of her massive form out of the hole. As she finally pulled the last of herself free, she turned and saw a twinkle of blue light. A blast of invisible force slammed into her and she toppled back onto the facility. Her body shivered and pulsed, legs and arms twisting and reaching. She straightened herself out and shot out an enormous spear-like limb. Kendra Rose Montagna stepped lightly to the side as the limb buried itself in the ground. She threw another barrage of energy at the limb and it snapped halfway to Holloway, who screeched and scrambled towards Kendra Rose Montagna. Holloway bounded towards the girl, who was miniscule in comparison to the Akira rip-off. Kendra Rose Montagna shot off into the air above the monster, wind whipping at her hair. All the energy that she was using was making her more physical. Yet she fought on. She closed her eyes and gathered energy in her hands. She could feel her fingertips tingle as they began to become physical objects.

“Ready,” she whispered, reaching the top of her arc into the air. Then she plummeted down towards the ground and the huge monster. With a sickening crunch, Kendra Rose Montagna ripped through the flesh and bone of hundreds of bodies, searing each one with red hot energy. After a second of burrowing a hole through Holloway, Kendra Rose Montagna shot out of the other side of the enormous woman. Holloway screamed as her insides were set on fire from the blast. She rolled away from the girl made of light energy, clutching at her wound with huge boney hands.

“Go, red! Go, white! Go, red,” she mumbled as her flesh burnt, turning from red, to burnt black, to ashen white. Painfully, she stood again and rushed towards Kendra Rose Montagna, who lept into the air in response.

 

Skinbo ripped around the corner. In the distance, he could see a fight. He adjusted his sword in its sling on his back and put a hand on his pocket, feeling the familiar lump of wet dough that was the Limp Bizkit. He had learned that he would have to carry it to keep Lard-Butt from accidentally eating it. Dylan leaned over Skinbo's shoulder, looking at the fight ahead of them. He could see Holloway, large and lumbering, as well as a streak of light, whizzing around in the air above her, looping high in the air and dive-bombing the enraged Holloway. As they neared, they realized who it was.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” screamed Dylan at the top of his lungs. In the past few days, he had come to understand and appreciate Kendra Rose Montagna as a person. She swooped high again and shot down through the beast for the third time.

 

She was near her limit. Holloway was weakening, that she could tell, but she didn't know for how much longer she could keep it up. Her hands were regaining their color, and skin was beginning to spread up her arms. She was losing her powers. She swooped up again. It was all or nothing. She charged another blast, but this time, she let herself fall slowly. She held the energy until she couldn't hold it any more, then put it inside her. She felt the warm rush of heat that she had felt all those years ago when she had first gotten her powers, trying to reach that creek. Then she gathered more. She could feel her whole body beginning to shake. She directed her flight down just in front of Holloway. She could feel the energy radiating out of her body. Just before she was about to explode, something caught her ear, and she looked behind her. There, in a stolen Jeep, yelling encouragements barely heard over the wind that whipped around her, were Dylan and Skinbo. She turned to face them, to warn them to run away, to escape, but it was too late. She felt the energy well up inside her, she felt her body slowly ripping apart. She also felt a long, boney limb shoot through her stomach and twist away through the air. She looked down at the long appendage from which she now hung. Her torso, now fully physical, felt like it was on fire. With a sickening slurp, Holloway pulled the tendril out of Kendra Rose Montagna's body. She fell to the ground, hand clutched over her wound, the world fading before her eyes. Then, everything was dark and cold and still.

 

Dylan vaulted out of the back seat. He ran towards Kendra Rose Montagna's body, dodging the whipping tentacles and limbs of Holloway. He skidded to a halt beside her now physical form. Thinking quickly, he reached into himself and brought out dry newspaper. He hurriedly blocked the hole in her stomach with the paper and some spiders before picking her up. He ran, this time more slowly and carefully, back to the Jeep. Skinbo whipped the vehicle around and revved the engine. Dylan heaved the wounded girl into the back and sat himself down in the passenger's seat. Holloway roared behind them and Skinbo stepped on the gas. Holloway scrambled to keep up with the Jeep as it zigzagged out across the tarmac. Dylan climbed into the back seat and pulled out a medkit. The limb had gone through Kendra Rose Montagna's side, not hitting any vital organs, barely missing some very important ones, though. Dylan tried his best to stop the bleeding with medical supplies and spiders, but Kendra Rose Montagna needed more than a field kit, and fast. Fortunately for her, there just happened to be a fully functional ambulance on the premises, right next to the helicopter landing spaces. If they could shake or distract Holloway, then they might have a chance. Dylan looked back at the incoming horror and crawled to the back of the Jeep. Before Skinbo could ask what he was doing, Dylan jumped from the vehicle and tumbled along the ground for a few feet. Skinbo knew he couldn't turn back to get him, but he swung the Jeep around anyway. Dylan shakily stood, bits of paper mache falling off his wet body. Holloway skidded to a halt and grinned with every mouth on her body. Dylan looked back at his friends in the Jeep and smiled as best he could, since his face was a little destroyed from the fall. Then he turned back to face the enormous woman before him. Holloway towered over the paper mache boy, grin wide across her face. Skinbo revved the engine and skidded away towards where he knew the ambulance would be. As much as he hated leaving Dylan to that monster, Kendra Rose Montagna was dying, and every second that he spent feeling sorry for his friend was more lost blood from her now physical form. As he sped off towards the helipads, he snuck one last look back at his friend. Dylan was enveloped in a writhing black mass which was propelling him upward to be level with Holloway. As he looked back towards the boy, he realized an inherent truth about Dylan. Dylan didn’t just like spiders. Dylan **WAS** spiders.

 

Dylan’s true form exploded out of him. Millions of spiders wriggled and squirmed their way between the wet newspaper strips of his body. Having the ability to generate infinite spiders wasn’t often useful, but now would be as good a time as any to take advantage. Holloway’s grin faded. She shuddered, fleshy tentacles sliding across her wrinkled body. Dylan lifted a mass of spiders and brought it down across Holloway’s face, it’s weight bashing a sizable dent in her skull. Holloway shivered again, and what must have been more than one hundred tentacles sprang forth from her face and head. The tendrils slashed into the mass of spiders, severating and searching and eating. Dylan could feel his body cut into segments by the tentacles. Holloway scrambled her many legs and drew her closer in towards Dylan. She opened her maw and inhaled an immense clump of spiders from Dylan’s torso. Dylan heaved a huge fist made of spiders into the air and brought it down on the scientist. She barely flinched, only eating more spiders with each twist of her disgusting body. Dylan’s spiders ripped and tore and spread across Holloway’s back like a living carpet. Holloway’s tentacles simply wiped at them lazily and drew them towards mouths that opened up along her spine. From a distance, the fight would have looked like a deflated pink rubber ball covered in black liquid. Holloway gulped and wiped and drew evermore spiders into her body. Dylan fought desperately to injure her, but to no avail. Slowly, every spider he generated was eaten by the many mouths.

 

Skinbo lifted Kendra Rose Montagna onto the stretcher and loaded her into the ambulance. It had been cleaned since the last time he had been in it, the blood washed from the walls, left a pristine silver white. Skinbo removed bandages from a box on the wall and wrapped them around Kendra Rose Montagna’s waist. She had lost a lot of blood, and was quite out of it. Skinbo desperately tried to remember what Grant had done with Tim Allen when they had been in a similar situation. He grabbed a needle and bottle of adrenaline and, with shaking hands, drew the clear liquid into the syringe. He took a deep breath and rolled up Kendra Rose Montagna’s sleeve. He wiped down a spot on her arm with an alcohol swab and put the needle into her arm. After he had removed the needle, he put it on a table beside the stretcher and looked for a blood bag. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and set up the blood transfusion with a spare bag of O Negative blood. She was breathing, the wound wasn’t bleeding as much as it had been, and she had a steady amount of blood going into her. Should he cauterize the wound? Maybe. What was something else? Clotting agent! This was an army base! Surely there would be some clotting agent in that field kit in the Jeep! Skinbo jumped out of the back of the ambulance and jogged to the Jeep. Dylan may not be able to hold Holloway, so he should probably hurry. Skinbo riffled through the field kit, removed the spongy military-grade CLOTOX package, and turned to go back to the ambulance. As he turned, a shadow fell over the airfield. Skinbo’s hand went to the hilt of his broadsword and slowly, deliberately, turned to face the source of the shadow. Towering high above him, mottled black and pink from a mix of spiders and human flesh, a mammoth shape obscured the sun, grinning down onto the gas station attendant. There were three people left living in the facility. Skinbo dropped the package of clotting agent and drew his broadsword slowly. Holloway’s awful mouth opened as he drew his weapon, curling at the ends into a perverse imitation of a smile. Her teeth were long and white as ever, though there were now many rows extending down her throat. Skinbo very carefully removed a handful of baked dough from his pocket and tied it to his sword with a roll of gauze. Holloway only smiled ever wider. Skinbo smiled too and, gripping his sword in both hands, charged at the terrible beast before him. Her tendrils extended again, reaching down towards him. He swung at one, severing it from the host. Another swept behind him and knocked his legs out from under him. He gripped his sword tight and tried to stand, but another limb shot out and snatched his ankle. He was pulled up into the air by the fleshy appendage, held upside down and drawn level with the awful, terrible mouth of the beast. Skinbo clutched at his sword, grasping its handle in one hand. A tentacle slithered through the air and took the sword from its owner. This spiteful tentacle tossed the sword into the back of the throat of the beast, which accepted the weapon with a happy rumble. The limb which held Skinbo then drew itself towards this gaping maw, towards the abyss which sought to consume the world. Towards the most ambitious vorarephile in the world. Then she twitched. Her grin faltered, and her body listed to one side like a boat in a storm. Her tentacles lowered to the ground, and her body was lifted to the heavens. Skinbo slipped his leg out from the tentacle which had held him and watched in awe as Holloway levitated above the ground. From her body, light began to shine through and escape. It burst forth like spotlights from her mouths, eyes, wounds, and other orifices which covered her body. The light shone brighter and brighter until Skinbo could barely watch. He had to shut his eyes and turn away from the brilliant light which shone out across the airfield. A wave of heat and Nu Metal swept over Skinbo as the beast was torn apart by the Limp Bizkit that had been crudely attached to a broadsword. Skinbo could smell burn flesh and hair and could feel his body vibrate from the energy radiating out from the destruction of such a large being. And like that, it was over. The light faded and became nothing. The broadsword fell at Skinbo’s feet with a flash and a clatter, and then the airfield was silent. A thin desert wind blew over the empty plane. Skinbo picked up the broadsword and replaced it in its sheath. Without a word, he walked back to the ambulance, picked up the CLOTOX, and went to patch up Kendra Rose Montagna.


	44. Scene 44: Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Big Skinbo, big dick, salty like a fish stew. Destroyer of worlds, like a big retarded Vishnu.  
> Six dudes on me harder than bamboo. Ragu on my balls when I fuck Shamu.  
> Waterloo, graduated, raped my professor when graded.  
> Rip a dog in half and masturbated, now my pants are saturated.  
> Tim is overrated, rim is always loose and coy. Destroy dick December 8th, for me my willy never sated.  
> Fuck a broadsword, never want to risk it. Save the universe with a game of Limp Biscuit.  
> Land the heli, yeah, we’re ready for a fisting. Jack my dick to Home Improvement, shooting when I hear the EUEEEHHHHH!  
> Running over pregnant bitches like a double speed bump. Fending off the tentacles, pool balls I eat them.  
> Breed them. Seed spilled. Imma kill. Die of AIDS like Michael Anthony, kill kids like Casey Anthony. YAHH!"
> 
> -Johnny Ruso, "Zoom"

It is now ten years after Area 52 was destroyed. Skinbo's book,  _ Zoom: Academy for Superheroes,  _ has just become popular enough to warrant a movie adaptation. It stars George Clooney as Tim Allen, Tom Hanks as Dylan, and is directed by Wes Anderson. Kendra Rose Montagna has begun her career as a world famous actor, and plays herself in the film. Skinbo, when asked in an interview with FOX News about how he felt about the deaths of Tim Allen and the rest of the Zenith Team, responds, “And so, Timallen was reunited with his brother and a new Zenith team. But they were more than a team. They were a family.”

Kendra Rose Montagna's house, though quite nice, is filled with cobwebs from a massive spider infestation that she refuses to clean out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this garbage book. This was a bit of a beast to write. There were many things that I would have liked to add, like better character arcs, more complex relationships, and a plot that wasn’t convoluted as hell. Too bad I had to conform to the worst dialogue ever! Over all, I wouldn’t suggest writing a book with dialogue from something else. It is hell to make everything make sense, and sometimes you can’t even do that. I just hope that all the jokes I put in made the garbage fire of a plot a little more tolerable. If not, feel free to lambast me in the comments, for I fear nothing now. I have gazed into the abyss and the abyss is mildly homophobic. I have yet to actually watch the movie in full, but I did watch the first scene. I really did not like it. I don’t know if I’ll ever watch it, it may be funnier if I never do. Owen, Happy Birthday, again. I hope you can forgive me. Thanks once again to everyone for reading this trainwreck, and stay tuned for my next book, which will be called All Furries Go To Hell, or something else dumb like that.
> 
>  
> 
> I'd like to give special thanks to the people who helped me write this. First, I'd like to thank Owen, for putting up with my bs for more than thirteen years, especially this last one. I hope you still like Zoom after I wrote an entire book about how bad it is. Stay strong in your beliefs my man. I'd also like to thank Evan, Daniel, and Karina for helping with the Allen album. I'd like to shout out Shadowglove88, PerkyGoth14, Dreamweaver127, Metherland, Reader1718, Sparrowsverse, Misura, Flareonfury, Sparrowshellcat, and Runningwithshadows, for either writing something enjoyable, or for taking criticism without complaining too much (or at all, as the case may be). Lastly, I'd like to thank all the creators that gave me inspiration for this project: the creator of Detective Pony, Mowtendoo and the members of the OTOMAD community, David Firth, Cyriak, OneyNG, CS188, Ben Wheele (you psychopath), Felix Colgrave, Bill Wurtz, Greasy Tales (formerly SexuaLobster), Neil Cicirega, and Khonjin. There are lots more, but those are the most relevant ones. I really hope that you liked the book, and please make sure to support everyone just mentioned as a gift to me ._______.

**Author's Note:**

> Wendy's product placement? No. A Rat Problem music product placement? Yes.  
> [Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/ca/album/allen-feat-karina-kuzmiszyn-mort-johnny-ruso-extrid/1460661329)  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/album/79ux6EouMLzV7F41r8aLeZ)  
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_nYQ2Zv55QBE7rT4QXDk_-wyV7aE4T1Ng4)


End file.
